


Lunar Eclipse

by starsplitter



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, Light BDSM, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-06-16 17:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15441681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsplitter/pseuds/starsplitter
Summary: Malcolm meets his nemesis in form of a certain Major J. Hayes, and things quickly escalate between them - in more ways than they both could've anticipated.A closer look at the tangled and very complicated relationship of Jeremiah Hayes and Lt. Malcolm Reed.





	1. Past and Present

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure I'm not the only one who believes there initially was more to the Reed/Hayes dynamics in Season 3 (or maybe I'm just delusional, who knows).  
> Having finished watching Enterprise for the first time only recently, the design and outline for J. Hayes' character hugely bothered me. So I tried to come up with something that might make him look a little bit more "real", if you will, and hope I didn't butcher his character too much.  
> This fic is (mostly) canon-compliant and un-beta'd ... just a fair warning given.  
> And it's gonna be a bit long.  
> As usual, comments and criticism are most welcome!

 

All his life his father had prepared him for a military career.

Having never been able to serve in the Armed Forces himself, Matthew Hayes was determined his son should have the chance to achieve this lifelong dream of his, much to his wife’s dismay. Barbara Hayes was a first and foremost a pacifist, and besides that she did not believe in forcing her child into a career path a parent had chosen.  
Jeremiah Hayes remembered his parents muted hissy brawls at night after his dad had taken him to target practice on the range, and his mother’s disappointed glares as his six year-old self sat sprawled out on his father lap on lazy afternoons, listening to his lectures of the history of humanity’s biggest conflicts, both on Earth as well as in space.  
For his tenth birthday, he received a copy of Sun Tzu’s ‘The Art Of War’— not as data file on a PADD, but as an actual antique book: case bound in supple, buttery soft cognac colored leather, only showing a few faint scratches on its cover. It must have cost a fortune. Even today it was Jeremiah Hayes most treasured possession: an advisory for difficult decisions as well as proof of how much his father cherished his only son.

Much to Barbara Hayes’ chagrin her son reveled in the prospect of becoming a soldier. He loved the structure, discipline and routine that was laid upon him in a mock military environment. Sometimes he would address his father with “Sir”.  
On his 17th birthday he joined the junior’s ROTC program offered at his High School through the United Earth Military.

Jeremiah Hayes gave a soft chuckle as he remembered the first time he was officially allowed to wear the Junior Cadet Programs’ uniform. It was in June, and as he stepped off the school’s transportation craft he saw his parents already waiting outside their front door.  
His dad had tears in his eyes. So did his mom, but for completely different reasons.

By the time he was 18, he signed up for the Military Assault Command Operations and was transferred to West Point, New York. Upon arrival of the acceptance letter to the prestigious academy his father took him aside, put a hand on his shoulder and said: “Son.”  
Then he looked at him for a very long time without speaking a single word.  
It was a dream come true — both for Matthew as well as for Jeremiah Hayes. The sacrifices, the hard work, everything had payed off.

The last day before shipping out to West Point, Jeremiah Hayes looked around his parents’ sparse apartment: a small, plain two-bedroom-habitat.  
The tiny kitchen with the breakfast nook, where his dad kept the few PADDs the family owned. The meek and modest living room with a small television and communication screen, the shoes that sat on a little mat next to the front door.  
There were very few luxuries in the life of Matthew and Barbara Hayes, and there never had been much in terms of material or monetary wealth. Yet Jeremiah Hayes had never gotten the feeling his family was poor. They lived a simple life — his riches were the love and the unremitting commitment to his future that he received from his parents.  
It had been this exact moment that Hayes decided he would make his father even prouder. And his mother, although he and her might have differing opinions on his choice of career.  
He would excel at his profession. He would be as relentless and as committed to his future as his father had been.

And excel he did.  
Top of his class at West Point, he was awarded a full scholarship not only for his last semesters at the Academy, but also for the Lunar Survival Training Program that was to start in March of the following year. He kept it a secret from his father and instead decided to travel back home to North Carolina to deliver the news personally. His uniform neatly starched and pressed, he was on his way to his parents’ habitat complex when he ran into Kristen Hirshman.

“Well, look who’s back.”

“Hi, Kristen.”

Out of reflex, he assumed an ‘at ease’ position, feet shoulder with apart and his hands interlocked at the small of his back. She raised her eyebrow at him, and for a brief moment the corner of her mouth flicked up into a somewhat taunting smile.

“Geez, Jerry. I know you’ve always been quite the soldier, but there’s no need to go all gung-ho MACO on me. Relax, okay?” She looked him up and down for a minute. “You look good though. The uniform suits you well. You on leave?”  
She pulled her long, dishwater blonde hair back behind her ear and gave him an enigmatic smile as she looked up, and he could swear that something in her eyes changed for a brief second.

He’d known Kristen for more or less all his life. They went to the same elementary school and were classmates in high school, and he remembered that in ninth grade astronomy he’d sat next to her. He also knew that he was very different from Kristen Hirshman — while he spend his days living in the future, dreaming of a military career and possibly even duty in space, she had always been somewhat of a small town belle: she was on the local cheerleading team and helped out at her aunt’s corner store during summers, drawing in the local high school kids with her looks and spunky personality.

Not very tall but slender, with green eyes and a couple of stray freckles on the bridge of her nose, Kristen Hirshman had been the incarnation of an adolescent boy’s dream.  
Now, four years later, she wasn’t as fragile anymore as he had remembered her, but he figured from the way her moves were sensuous and sultry that she probably still attracted the same attention from most of her male fellows.

“I’m just visiting for a couple days before I go back to West Point.”

“I’ve heard you were accepted. That’s really good for you! You’re somewhat of a legend here, you know?” She grinned, and he felt his face flush as he awkwardly tried to find a comfortable, less military position.

“Why, because I’m at West Point?”

“Ya. And because you’ve achieved so much. Your dad is bursting with pride every time he talks about you. He says you’re gonna go far.”

Jeremiah Hayes chuckled. “Yeah, I guess he must be really proud …”

“Let’s catch up sometime, Jerry. Local honkytonk has country night on Wednesday,” her voice pitched in anticipation.

“Oh God, anything but that, please!”

“Alright, it’s a date! I’ll see you Wednesday.” She laughed as they hugged. “I’ve missed you.”

‘ _You haven’t seen me in what, four years_ ,’ Hayes thought, and politely smiled back. He watched her as she walked away, her hips slightly swinging and his uniform suddenly felt way too hot for mid-spring temperatures. He scoffed and made his way up to his parents’ apartment.

Pride didn’t even come close to what his dad must have felt, and even his mother seemed genuinely happy when he broke the news to them.  
Matthew Hayes went to the cooling unit in the kitchen and returned with three bottles of beer. Upon his son’s remark that he was under the legal age to consume alcohol Matthew barked out a laugh that bellowed through the tiny space and handed him the bottle.

“Do you think I’m gonna report you? I sure raised you to be a soldier, but no need to abide the rules like this when you are back home, son. Now do you want this or not?”

His mother giggled. Jeremiah rolled his eyes and plucked the bottle from his father’s hand.

“To you, my son. To your outstanding achievements and your commitment.”

“We are very proud of you,” his mom added. He wondered how much it really pained her sometimes, but he didn’t dare to ask.

The following Wednesday he sat through four hours of agony as he met up with Kristen at what she had called the “honkytonk”, listening to banjos wailing and boots stomping like war drums. Kristen’s presence, however, made it bearable.  
He watched her sway to the rhythm, rolling her hips with the beat and she smiled at him as she realized he was staring at her.  
By the end of the night (and after a couple of drinks that were definitely against West Point regulations), Jeremiah Hayes, nineteen years old, was glued to Kristen Hirshman’s lips like his parents’ suckerfish to the window of his tiny twelve-gallon habitat.

He went back to West Point a few days later, having left one of his dog tags with Kristen, and knew that most likely half of the guys in town were hoping for an unfortunate accident with an IED during practice sessions.

It was Kristen Hirshman that he lost his virginity to a couple months later, crammed into her tiny bed while her parents were out for the night. She ruled him like a caged animal, and he had the sneaking suspicion he had not been the first who had experienced her not-so-gentle dominance and determination as she rode him — but was it really surprising?  
With Lunar Survival Training just merely half a year out, he knew they would be separated for at least six months, if not more. And with that in mind, Jeremiah Hayes made the first (and so far only) quick and thoughtless decision of his life:  
On a slightly chilly September night he proposed to her.

The shotgun wedding followed just two months later. He would have been fine with a courthouse affair, but Kristen wanted the whole kit and caboodle. Luckily, her family was financially way more stable than his ever had been, and they were more than willing to indulge their youngest daughter’s every whim.

She picked an old barn for their venue and insisted on a traditional beef-or-chicken-buffet and 100 guests. He wore his dress uniform although it didn’t perfectly match her blush georgette dress, but it was the only thing that truly represented who he was. Kristen’s eyes lit up when he called her ‘Mrs. Hayes’, and she flipped a stray curl of her now blonder hair back and shot him a seductive glance.

Two days after the wedding he was back at West Point.

In the next months he went back and forth between upstate New York and North Carolina, preparing himself for his departure to New Berlin to start his Lunar Survival Training and unsuccessfully trying to persuade his new wife to move up north with him, which Kristen blatantly refused.  
She was too rooted in her small town home, her family and friends and twenty cousins as well as her reputation of being the local cheerleading star and, as of lately, a MACO princess.  
Without having been able to resolve their differences he left, and as he departed for orbit he questioned his decision more than ever if him and Kristen were stable enough for a lifelong commitment.  
Jeremiah Hayes hated not fully committing to things — whether it was his training or his marriage. He either poured his entire soul into something, or he didn’t see a point pursuing the idea.  
Lunar Survival Training was exhausting, grueling and punishing, both mentally and physically. He was allowed to contact Kristen once a week via subspace transmission, an event he both craved and dreaded every time Friday night rolled around.  
He would usually catch her while she was getting ready for work as a waitress at a local restaurant and bar. She was beautiful, her skin showing a golden glow from the first rays of summer sun and she now usually wore her hair in big, dramatic curls framing her delicate face. But their conversations dragged and he felt strangely empty after each transmission had ended.

Their conversations got shorter every time they talked, and Jeremiah Hayes knew they were living on borrowed time. One Friday, instead of receiving a call from his wayward spouse, he found his mother hailing him from her tiny living room. There had been talk in town of Kristen being a little too much into the attention of her plethora of male suitors, and rumor had it that she was particularly fond of one of the local guys. Although there was no definite answer if she had been unfaithful, Jeremiah Hayes was not about to find out how far she would go the longer he was gone.  
The following week, he recorded a transmission in which he formally requested the marriage to be dissolved and sent it out to her without further ado on Friday. He didn’t bother calling her, and her written response was rather brief and frosty.

After returning back to Earth, he visited her to collect all the necessary paperwork to proceed with the divorce of their very short happily ever after. They exchanged a couple of reserved pleasantries at first, which quickly spun out of control into a full blown hissy fit and decided afterwards it likely would be best if they signed their court documents separately, without bothering to show up at the same time.

After a laughable eight months (most of which they had been separated), their marriage ended.  
He returned to his parents’ home for a short leave, feeling a vague sense of shame, but quickly realized that his mother and father were probably just as relieved about the new development as he was. In hindsight it had been the best decision to keep his life event more or less under wraps among his fellow students at the Academy — the last thing he wanted was this lapse of judgement to reflect badly on his professional impression.  
As he stepped inside Barbara looked worried, but his father only slapped him on the shoulder in his usual rough manner and took him to the kitchen for a bottle of his favorite Lager.

 

 

‘ _I wonder if she’s still working at that damn dive_ ’, Jeremiah Hayes mused on the thought for a while. He usually never thought much about the past, but the shuttle transport to Enterprise had been delayed several times and thus he had plenty of time to dwell on it. How long had it been now, thirteen, fourteen years? He chuckled quietly.  
The things you do when you’re a twenty year-old cadet who thinks he knows it all.

He looked at the leather-clad book on his lap, stroking over the supple material with his thumb.

He had been a corporal in the MACOs for a while when he got the message his father had been diagnosed with a malignant form of cancer. It wouldn’t have been much of an issue if it hadn’t been a rare and aggressive form that there was no cure for yet. ‘ _It figures_ ’, he thought grimly, ‘ _it couldn’t have been pancreatic or bone cancer or something_.’

Within months the cancer had metastasized from his father’s spinal cord further up into the brain stem and other parts of the tissue. He went on emergency leave a couple of times, spending his time in endless hospital corridors and sterile rooms as he watched Matthew Hayes wither away. He couldn’t blame the doctors.  
They had tried everything, even suggesting radiation and chemotherapy, ancient forms of cancer treatment, which had been used centuries ago to battle the vicious disease.

Jeremiah Hayes knew he was going to lose the man he owed so much to.

“In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.” His father had always told him that life offers a lesson for every situation you were in. “Open your eyes, Jay,” he had said, “and be open to learn from everything you encounter.”

His father’s death had taught him how to deal with a pain so massive and incomprehensible it threatened to consume him. After all treatments had failed, Barbara and her son decided it was best to bring Matthew back into a more familiar environment — their home. He didn’t recognize them most of the time, falling in and out of consciousness, but Jeremiah would still sit at his bedside during his last days of emergency leave. In the beginning he had read excerpts from the book or simply told his father about his daily life of being a MACO.  
But after a while he found himself quiet, not because he had nothing to say, but because he didn’t know where to start.

One morning, the early April sun flooding his parent’s bedroom with light, Matthew Hayes suddenly opened his eyes and grabbed his son’s wrist as he looked at him and said:

“Look, son — outside. It is spring.”

 

Those were the last words his father ever spoke.

 

He remembered his mothers guttural wails.  
Thirty minutes later the medical doctor and a few of his staff clomped in, crowding the apartment and determining the time of death to be ten-twentytwo hours a.m.; cause of death: cancer.

Hayes clutched the book in his lap a little tighter.

It felt like he had lost part of himself that day, an emptiness he didn’t know how to fill. For a while he was flailing, desperately trying to regain his balance: a few flings in seedy little pubs the MACOs liked to frequent. Ultimately it was his commitment to duty that filled that void.  
In record time, he got promoted to Major.

“Treat your men as you would your own beloved sons. And they will follow you into the deepest valley.”

It was his dedication to the chain of command that had predestined Major Jeremiah Hayes to lead a detachment of MACOs that would join the crew of Enterprise NX-01 in their venture into the Delphic Expanse.  
The attack in Florida killing nearly seven million people had happened just a couple days ago — some of his soldiers had lost their entire families. Hayes closed his eyes as he thought about the enormity of the attack. Seven million. Gone in an instant.  
Somewhere deep inside of him a faint voice in the back of his head whispered of the things it wanted to do to whoever had committed this crime, begging for blood … he pushed the thought aside.  
Rash decisions led only by emotion were never helpful. Not in battle, and certainly not in other aspects of life. Such as meeting a certain former classmate and marrying her after less than a year. Hayes grimaced for a second.

They had no time to lose. Whoever was out there needed to be stopped. Where the heck was that damn ship?

“Warp five my ass,” Hayes muttered under his breath.

***

Lt. Malcolm Reed felt Enterprise’s Warp engine stutter under his feet.

Whenever they floated in space at a lower speed he could feel the slight changes in the way the engines usually pulsated, and it almost seemed there was somewhat of a pitch and toss to the vessel. ‘ _Like a bloody boat_ ,’ he thought and felt nausea stir in the pit of his stomach.  
Getting seasick on a starship. He could only imagine what his father would have to say to that.  
He’d probably get yet another lecture from Rear Admiral Stuart Reed (retired) about the Royal Navy and the importance of their family tradition.  
How disappointed he was in his only son and how all of his Royal Navy ancestors were practically spinning in their graves — some of them on land, some of them at the bottom of the ocean.  
Malcolm Reed nervously fiddled with the PADD he carried in his hands.  
The grim and gloomy thoughts seemed to fuel his queasiness.

On top of everything, they ran thirty minutes behind on their schedule. He would have mentioned it to the Captain or to the Chief Engineer, Commander Charles Tucker III, but he figured it was best to leave the man alone — with his sister having died in the attack, a delay of half an hour most likely was the least of his worries.

He felt that they must have almost reached the space dock.  
He hadn’t been back on Earth in over a year. Ever since they had left their home planet he had felt surprisingly … less uneasy. Even more surprising, Enterprise had given him something he had never really experienced before: friends so close he considered them his other, less complicated, family.  
Now that he could see glimpses of the blue planet in the windows of the ship, he felt every fiber of his body tense in knots.  
The attack in Florida. The upcoming hunt for whatever, or whoever, had been responsible. And the fact that Starfleet had decided they were going to offer their help in form of sending a bunch of Military Assault Operation Command units aboard. Lt. Malcolm Reed felt a muscle in his left shoulder twitch and a sharp pain shot up the side of his neck.

Last thing he needed was a bunch of military people chipping in his affairs. He was quite familiar with the saying what paved the road to hell — and Starfleet having the best of intentions by sending support was the most _logical_ (he shuddered at the word) explanation, but it felt like his competence was being questioned. He was the Tactical Officer and Chief of Security.  
He didn’t need supervision. He needed better weapon systems and more sophisticated photonic torpedoes.

There was a sudden jolt, followed by what felt like a mild earthquake as the ship arrived at the space port. The lights flickered briefly as the ship hit the docking pods, and he almost lost his footing for a second.  
The PADD fell out of his hands and hit the floor with a thud. Lieutenant Reed let out a huff of frustration, and then bent over to pick up the PADD. As he turned it over, he saw that the plastic frame on the very upper left corner now had a small chip.

“Oh, sod it!” He groaned loudly, and hoped nobody had heard him.

 

***

 

All his life Malcolm Reed had the distinct feeling he wasn’t enough.  
Not tough enough. Not strong enough. Not up to par when it came to his father’s expectations as to what his older child and only son should be like.  
All his life he had done nothing but tried.  
If it hadn’t been himself he would’ve laughed at the poor bastard bending over backwards more than half of his life to please everyone. By the time he was twenty and his old man had nagged for a while for him to join the Royal Navy, Malcolm Reed had made a surprising move: Instead of following the Reeds’ century-old tradition, he signed up for Starfleet Academy. Without telling anyone in his family.

And passed the entrance exam with flying colors.

He smiled wryly at the memory — when he returned home he fully expected a heated dispute, but nothing could prepare him his old man’s two-and-a-half-hour temper tantrum that followed.  
It hadn’t only been utterly exhausting for Malcolm and possibly his father, but also for everyone else present in the house; namely his mother Mary and sister Madeline.

He had spent the evening alone in the garden of his parents’ home a couple kilometers away from London, looking up into a dark and starless sky. Having grown up in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, he appreciated the silence and serenity of this place.  
‘ _You’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t_.’ It wasn’t the first time this thought had crossed his mind. Now more so than ever he had felt he needed to make a decision for himself, without regard for what the Rear Admiral said.

He had moved to San Francisco just a couple weeks later, and was hit by several epiphanies just days after he arrived on American soil.  
One of them was that he finally was free — he could do as he damn well pleased, there was nobody to criticize and shame him for every move he made.  
The other one was that no matter how much freedom he was given, he could never get rid of his father’s voice in his mind, mocking his every decision.  
He couldn’t let go.  
His upbringing had made him wary of others, no matter how well-meaning their intentions.  
And so Malcolm Reed did what he had always done: he kept to himself, and to his values.  
Discipline. Structure. Routine. Resiliency. Commitment.  
And through them, he excelled.

 

The assignment aboard Enterprise had come as a godsend.  
If being on the other side of the planet hadn’t been able to give him the distance he needed to recover from his troubled past, he figured maybe being up in space would.

It was supposed to be a mission of science and exploration; or at least it was what he had signed up for. Things had turned out very different, however.  
He forced a wry smile thinking about it — the only thing that could be said about their mission was if they had to die, at least they had seen things they’d never expected to see.  
Malcolm Reed remembered their first encounters with alien lifeforms. Neuropathic pollen that almost caused a casualty just days into their journey.  
Being held hostage with Trip Tucker by a couple of gorgeous ladies on Risa, which then shapeshifted and turned out to be two awfully ugly blokes instead.  
Discovering a Vulcan listening post hidden in an ancient temple.  
And then there was Commander Tuckers quite unexpected pregnancy that … The Lieutenant looked down so that nobody could see the smirk spreading over his face as he strode along the corridor to the shuttle bay.  
Bringing that one up with the Commander was still a touchy subject, to put it mildly.  
And although Reed, Ensign Hoshi Sato and Travis Mayweather had discussed it plenty of times already, it still had them in stitches every time someone brought it up.

“Good times.” His voice was but a whisper.  
Of everything he had learned in the last years there was one thing that stood above everything else: being aboard Enterprise had shown him that life, at least in certain aspects, wasn’t all bad.  
There were moments where Malcolm Reed had almost been tempted to say it was beautiful and full of marvelous things to discover.  
He let out a small huff.  
‘ _Like a little bit of playing the space hero and a double-sunrise on some alien planet was going to save you_ ,’ he thought and pushed the button for the turbolift a little too forceful.

Malcolm Reed was full of dark secrets. They seemed to fill every nook of his soul, and he himself wasn’t sure how far the morass of guilt and shame inside of him would reach if he dug deeper. Frankly, he wouldn’t want to anyway. Some things were better left untouched.  
But sometimes, especially at night — when the memories of his father’s nagging voice wouldn’t die down, and every bit of the loneliness and isolation he felt for most of his life crawled up next to him on his bunk bed — …  
In those times it seemed like the armor he had built his whole life cracked and through its vaults darkness poured out like tar, smothering him; the dimensions of his quarters shifted and became smaller and smaller, threatening to crush him, while he was floating out in the vast empty of space, serene during daytime and terrifying at night.

In situations like these he usually distracted himself with the kind of thoughts he usually did not allow himself to ponder on.  
Like Trip Tucker’s blue eyes, his snub nose and the way his tongue flicked out to moisten his lips when he was frustrated or very focused.  
The fact that he seemed so comfortable in his own skin. Even when they had to wait out hours upon hours in their bright blue Starfleet regulation underwear in decon after every away mission. Tucker looked good in blue.  
The way the Commander could pass as the dumb hick and yet he was brilliant, personable, and liked by almost everyone on the ship. As a matter of fact even T’Pol, the cold-hearted pointy-eared goddess, seemed to have been tamed by his charms as well. ‘ _It figures_ ,’ Reed thought grimly, ‘ _that a guy like Trip would be straight as an arrow_.’

The thought immediately sparked a wave of shame that wafted over him. What would his family think of him? On top of all the disappointment he seemingly already had brought them he was a goddamn _poof_ , and he didn’t dare to imagine what exactly the Rear Admiral would say to him if he knew.

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, the fidgety Tactical Officer and Head of Security, tensed up and shy around everyone, the closeted homosexual.

Reed knew that the latter wasn’t really a problem, at least not among Starfleet personnel.  
There were rules against fraternization, but they applied to everyone regardless of sexuality. There was no don’t ask, don’t tell. No paragraphs and regulations that made same-sex relationships illegal or even a crime — but Malcolm Reed knew the unspoken truths of how certain environments, namely military ones, perceived those who were attracted to the same gender.  
His father would’ve never openly admitted it in a sorry attempt to be ‘politically correct’ because he had to, but Malcolm remembered how he talked about a certain subordinate — Leading Hand Simon Davies, he even remembered his name — back when he was a Chief Petty Officer.  
How he picked out the most unpleasant tasks especially for him, and how he mocked and ridiculed Davies’ slightly feminine mannerisms at the dinner table in a high falsetto voice.

Lt. Reed knew that no matter if it was the Royal Navy or Military Assault Command Operations, these places were full of men like his father … and that people like Malcolm better stayed far, far away from them.  
And now the bloody ship was filled to the brim with them — a whole contingent of MACOs, lead by some chap called Hayes. Ensign Sato, who already had the pleasure of meeting them in the mess hall, said that apparently he was so MACO he didn’t even specify his first name, but stuck to rank instead.

_Major_ Hayes.

Malcolm Reed had unsuccessfully tried to persuade the Captain not to get involved in any business with some rather shady freighter captain (or foreman of a mining complex, for that matter), and found that his concerns were blatantly ignored — not that this had really surprised him. In fact, he was used to Archer being less “by the book” than Reed tended to be. This time, however, it irked him more than he cared to admit. Most likely because the overall situation had him on edge.  
But when the foreman had presented them with a severed finger the previous day he couldn’t help but wonder if Archer was on the right track. Now it was up to Phlox to analyze whether the digit was in fact Xindi. Reed had a bad feeling that they were being set up.

Even worse were his feelings regarding his first meeting with the Major. The MACOs had arrived a couple hours prior, but Hayes had insisted on speaking to Reed right away. Why couldn’t he just settle into his quarters and adjust for a day like any other sane person would?  
No, he specifically requested to speak to the Lieutenant just minutes after he arrived. To gather information regarding the mission’s current status. To coordinate. Strategize.  
‘ _To stick his nose up into my goddamn business and tell me how to do my bloody job_ ,’ Malcolm let out a labored breath. Why not be upfront about it?

He arrived at the door leading to the Armory. The Major had suggested to meet up there, and Reed had complied, although he felt like it was a violation of his personal space. When he entered, he realized the Major had arrived before him, despite Reed not being late.

“Lieutenant.”

A voice deeper than his own. Stern, almost cold green eyes were fixated on him — the Major didn’t exactly look him up and down, but Malcolm Reed felt just as uneasy as if he did.  
He was taller than him, the years of military service faintly showing under his uniform. He was buff.

“Major,” Reed snarled back.

The faintest furrow of a brow followed the rather cold introduction, but Hayes didn’t say anything.  
Instead, he briefly cleared his throat.

“I’d like to go over some specs with you regarding the upcoming away mission to the mining complex. There are a couple suggestions I’d like to make.”

‘ _Here we go_.’ The Lieutenant’s eyes narrowed.


	2. Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up between the Major and Malcolm Reed - and not in a good way. And Hayes finds out a secret of Malcolm that changes his views of the Lieutenant.
> 
> (Spoilers for season 3, ep. 15 "Harbinger".)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really tried to not make this chapter a novel in itself ... but I guess I'm not the type for short stories. I rewatched the scene from "Harbinger" for this one and had a blast analyzing the schmidt out of it.  
> Just as the previous chapter, this is unbeta'd - I hope I found all mistakes.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who gave kudos and bookmarked the story so far - it really means a lot to me :)
> 
> (Spoiler warning for season 3, ep. 15, "Harbinger".)

Jeremiah Hayes felt a palpable spike in tension as Reed, Enterprise’s tactical officer and head of security, entered the armory.

He wasn’t exactly sure what he had expected Reed to look like, but nevertheless he was surprised when the Lieutenant stepped into the room.

Malcolm Reed — Hayes had to think for a moment, but he was sure that was his first name — was shorter than he had imagined him to be, and of slender, sinewy built. Next to Hayes he almost looked petite. Not that he needed to let Reed know he characterized him as such.

From what he had heard the Lieutenant loved his arsenal of weapons, torpedoes and other means of self-defense a little bit too much and Hayes didn’t feel like starting things off the wrong foot with the man.

Although he was pretty sure he already did, despite not knowing the reason for that.

 

“There are a couple suggestions I’d like to make.” Hayes continued.

 

“And those would be, Major?” A clipped British voice. Underlying hostility.

 

“It would be highly advisable to have at least some sort of security force with you on the mission. I’m sure the Captain is aware …”

 

“Captain Archer knows what he is doing, Major.”

 

‘ _Last time I checked the British were supposed to be polite_ ,’Hayes thought. He didn’t flinch though.

 

“My crew and I are highly trained in those matters. I am more than willing to accompany you, or to send Kemper and McKenzie along. They’re some of my best.”

 

Reed ever so slightly tilted his head to the side and a faint but very sardonic smile spread on his face. His eyes narrowed as he looked up.

 

“Only if you wish, Sir,” Hayes added. “As the tactical officer the decision is …”

 

“Up to me. I appreciate the input — Major.”

 

Hayes could have sworn the temperature in the Armory had dropped by a couple centigrades.

 

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” The Lieutenant’s voice remained frosty.

 

“No, Sir.”

 

Hayes made no effort in concealing his disdain for the way the Lieutenant brushed his concerns aside. Instead of bringing up any further remarks about the planet’s atmosphere, or the fact that they had very little intel on who they were dealing with, he simply wished the Lieutenant a good night and left.

 

‘ _Well, that went just great_.’

Jeremiah Hayes’ initial irritation turned into a full-on rage as he strode along the corridor to his quarters on B-Deck.

He had no idea what possibly could have ticked off the Lieutenant that much — but whatever the reasons, his behavior was neither appropriate nor professional. He expected more from a crew member of Earth’s first exploration vessel. So much to Starfleet’s finest.

 

The Major entered his quarters and let out a frustrated groan as he carelessly threw his uniform jacket over the back of his chair.

They had been assigned to Enterprise to support the ship’s mission into the Expanse. For Christ’s sake, Archer himself had requested them. In order for them to do what they were supposed to do — what they were _asked_ to do — he needed someone he could work with, not some overly aggressive Armory Officer who couldn’t accept he now had to share his territory with a detachment of the United Earth Military.

 

A sudden urge to punch something overcame Hayes.

This was usually a situation remedied by a quick trip to the gym, where he either abused a punching bag or, if he could find a sparring partner, engaged in some good old close-combat practice. For a second he thought about contacting Kemper via comm, but quickly decided against it. It was late enough as it was, there was no point in bothering the man.

Instead, he changed into his MACO-issued workout gear, grabbed a towel and made his way down to the gym.

 

He had barely stepped through the door when he noticed the only familiar face, practicing his left hand swing on one of the punching bags. It was no other than the Lieutenant, who apparently was just as shocked to see Hayes in the last place he expected him to see.

‘ _Now he’s probably gonna think I’m invading his personal space again. Go figure_.’

Hayes gave a court nod, which Reed returned.

 

The Lieutenant indeed was sinewy — and it was evident he had been exerting himself for quite a while. The veins on his slender but strong forearms were pulsating and his shirt was drenched in sweat, his usually pale face flushed.

To keep his distance from the man Hayes opted for the treadmill instead and discreetly watched Reed as he relentlessly punched the bag hanging in front of him.

 

Hayes knew what suppressed anger looked like.

 

He had seen it before both in his men as well as in his fellow cadets at the Academy. Sometimes being in a military environment put a lot of strain on people. He was certain it wasn’t any different for men like Reed, who probably hadn’t expected to end up in the circumstances that they were in now.

Not everyone was apt to handle the demanding lifestyle.

He had seen a couple of his fellow MACOs snap, some of them during the first semesters at West Point, some of them during Lunar Survival Training.

Of all the unpleasant sight he’d seen, Hayes knew that there was nothing that compared to the terror that was seeing somebody lose it.

 

Reed however, he concluded, didn’t strike him to be the type to snap.

He’d seen men like Reed all his life: They came from families with a longstanding military tradition. They knew the drill. They had followed their fathers’ and grandfathers’ paths without question.

One could think they weren’t altogether different, but Jeremiah Hayes knew that unlike Reed he hadn’t left his humanity at the door when he entered his profession.

 

_‘Wouldn’t surprise me if he popped out of his mother’s womb standing at atten-shun.’_

Hayes had a hard time hiding his smirk.

No, Reed was discipline through and through. Hardened. Relentless. Committed.

No wonder Archer had picked him — he might be unpleasant to deal with on a personal level, but he did his job. And he probably was fiercely loyal.

 

On top of that he clearly was competitive. Hayes noticed it even more when he realized that the Lieutenant most likely wouldn’t leave before him, simply to make a point.

He was tempted to keep running, to see how long it would take to deplete Reed’s last energy reserves, but eventually Jeremiah Hayes gave in.

The whole ordeal was petty and he knew it. He wouldn’t allow himself to sink on the Lieutenant’s level. There were many other things to pick a fight about, and Hayes was tired.

 

He grabbed his towel as he tried to steady his breathing and for one last time glanced over to Reed, who conveniently ignored him.

‘ _He’ll come around eventually,_ ’ Hayes thought grimly. ‘ _Archer and his crew will learn soon enough that this won’t be a goddamn cakewalk. One of these days the snooty little Brit will be begging for our help._ ’

 

Back in his quarters Major Jeremiah Hayes realized he couldn’t sleep.

It had been a while since he was in space, and he didn’t particularly like what it felt like to be on a spacecraft. Something about the gravity configuration always felt off to him, a little too heavy to be natural, and the artificial light made his eyes sting and sent an unpleasant pulsing sensation through his temples.

He looked at the stars floating by his viewport and sighed. He might as well occupy himself with some reading material until he got drowsy enough to drift off to sleep.

He already had the leather-clad edition of _The Art of War_ in his hand when his gaze fell onto the computer on his desk. As a MACO he didn’t have access to all of the Starfleet files in the database, but some of them could be accessed by the general public on the ship.

Hayes felt a tickle at the lower end of his spine — he knew he was being nosy, goddammit, but he couldn’t refrain from logging into the device and accessing the personnel profiles of Enterprise’s crew.

 

There he was.

 

_Malcolm Archibald Reed._

 

Hayes’ suppressed laugh came out as a snort. Reed probably kept that middle name under wraps.

 

 _Born September 2, 2117 in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Interesting._ _Says here that his father is a retired Rear Admiral in the British Royal Navy._

Hayes whistled. So the Lieutenant’s old man isn’t just rank and file.

 

“Then why the heck did snooty Malcolm join Starfleet?” Hayes muttered to himself.

 

From what Jeremiah Hayes could tell, Reed’s testing scores during his time at Starfleet Academy in San Francisco were among the highest of his year, although it was noted that he didn’t do well during Zero-G Training.

The rest of the profile bore testimony to two things, Hayes noticed: Firstly being that Malcolm Reed was brillant. Secondly, however, his personal file remained strangely bland — almost like he was dealing with a robot. Reed wasn’t personable. He was efficient.

 

The Major closed the file and shut off the computer.

 

There was a feeling of strangeness that seemed to follow him as he laid in his bunk bed, watching the reflection of the stars cast shadows on the wall.

It was almost like the blandness that was Malcolm Reed had crept under his skin, a coldness spreading into an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

The question remained if, despite all his accomplishments, Reed could be trusted.

And Jeremiah Hayes had a bad feeling about this.

 

 

 

When he got up the next morning he realized how little he actually had slept.

Hayes awoke with what felt like a top grade hangover despite not having had a drop of alcohol and the gravity configuration felt even heavier than the day before, which resulted in his body reacting with a slight bout of vertigo.

 

He requested the strongest coffee from one of the re-sequencers in the mess hall and wasn’t disappointed. They had definitely improved them since his time during Lunar Survival Training in New Berlin.

 

Jeremiah Hayes forced himself to a portion of the grits Chef had prepared for breakfast and watched his fellow shipmates as he ate.

Reed and the Chief Engineer, Tucker, sat on one of the tables across from his’. They weren’t close enough for him understand every word of the conversation, but he distinctly heard Tucker’s slightly slurred Southern drawl. Hayes smiled faintly. It vaguely reminded him of home, although it didn’t sound like the way folks talked in his neck of the woods.

Maybe Alabama? Florida panhandle? Who knew.

 

There was something else he noticed though that captured his attention more than Commander Tucker’s accent.

It was the way Reed looked at him.

Something was off about it. It wasn’t like Reed didn’t make eye contact, he was being perfectly normal during the conversation — but every time Tucker looked away something in Reed’s gaze shifted, and it almost seemed like the Lieutenant got uncomfortable.

 

‘ _Well, maybe he doesn’t like Tucker either. Maybe he just hates everyone equally_.’

 

Then Hayes felt the realization trickle in.

It wasn’t disdain.

 

 

It was longing.

 

 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Hayes muttered, and for a second he himself drifted back into the _moonshine and dirt roads_ , backwoods North Carolina drawl that was usually reserved for his closest family.

So if his hunch was correct, Reed apparently had secrets. Hayes took a long swig from his coffee and briefly looked back at the Lieutenant, and for a small second he felt like Malcolm Reed was actually _human_.

 

 

 

His sudden compassion for the man changed relatively quickly when he — once more — got a glimpse of how difficult Reed could be. It all had started on Thursday, when Hayes had a conversation with Captain Archer regarding his plans to put the security team as well as all senior officers through a series of training drills, especially close-combat fighting techniques.

Hayes was well aware that the United Earth Military, especially the MACO division, was way ahead of Starfleet when it came to fighting tactics and technology. Archer didn’t only agree, he deemed it necessary to have his crew undergo the additional training.

Hayes however couldn’t just schedule the training sessions, he had to go through Reed, being the Tactical Officer, first.

And that’s when things inevitably got worse.

 

The Lieutenant was less than thrilled to see him.

Jeremiah Hayes admitted that him and the Lieutenant had come to blows during the times they’d worked together, but he had the impression they had been able to keep things professional — at least so far.

That, however, was about to change.

 

 

***

 

 

Malcolm Reed was nervous.

He knew that Archer had a point — they were headed into a hostile situation. But that was about it. He was ready. His people were ready.

So why put everyone through the ordeal of more training, especially when the MACO’s expertise came from _simulated_ scenarios and training that took place on Earth?

Alas, the Captain had made a decision, so Reed had to comply.

The Lieutenant normally wasn’t one to procrastinate and yet he had put off talking to the Major all day. The last thing he felt like seeing was Hayes’ smug face in his vicinity.

 

‘ _Speaking of the devil,_ ’ Malcolm Reed’s lips twisted into one of his trademark sardonic smiles when he heard the door to the Armory open. He immediately knew who was coming to visit him.

For a moment he wondered how he could’ve known, but he pushed the thought aside and turned around to face Hayes.

 

“Lieutenant.”

 

“Major. What can I do for you?”

 

He noticed that both of them out of reflex had assumed an “at ease” position, feet shoulder width apart, hands tucked behind their backs, eyes sternly focused ahead.

 

Hayes was about to start talking, but Reed cut him off.

 

“Captain Archer has already notified me of your plans.”

 

If the Major had been affronted by the way Reed had interrupted him he didn’t show it. No, Hayes’ eyes stayed as calm and cold as they usually were.

He had seen men like Hayes all his life.

Similar to him, they oftentimes were from families with a longstanding military tradition. They treaded the same old godforsaken paths their fathers and grandfathers had treaded. They tried to pass off their confrontational nature as discipline and a military determination — he had seen it on his own father.

And like most of them, Hayes had left his humanity and compassion behind when he became a _soldier_. Nothing of him was remotely human. He was all spit and polish, ice cold integrity.

 

And Malcolm Reed noticed how much he hated everything about the _Major_ , this man who didn’t even seem to have a first name.

 

“I would like to schedule the training in compliance with your teams’ as well as the senior officers’ schedule. I think that Enterprise’s crew could benefit greatly from the sessions.”

 

‘ _Oh, bugger off_.’ It took Malcolm Reed a significant amount of effort not to let that one slip.

 

“Which days would you suggest, Major? I hope you are aware that Enterprise runs on a very tight schedule, especially her senior officers and their teams.”

 

“I am aware of that, Lieutenant.”

 

There it was again.

Now he had figured out what specifically bothered him so much about the way Hayes talked to him — the faint, almost imperceptible sarcasm; a venomous undertone disguised as respect.

 

“I am sure you are also aware that it’s Tuesday and movie night is going to start in about 20 minutes. Maybe we can discuss this on the way, unless you are not attending.”

 

‘ _I sure hope he’s not taking that as an invite. Last thing I need is the Major ruining my evening_.’

 

“I have a couple of reports to write, so I won’t be joining. But we can nevertheless discuss it on the way to the mess hall … Okay, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday. How does 0800 sound?”

 

“I prefer to train in the evenings.” Reed didn’t look at Hayes as they left the armory.

 

Something told him the Major rolled his eyes.

 

“Any reason?”

 

Wasn’t it obvious? Especially for Hayes, being a soldier?

“You get a better workout,” Reed noticed how his voice became more confrontational. It had been a long day. “Muscles are looser, reaction times quicker.”

 

“How about Tuesday and Fridays in the morning, Wednesday in the evening?” He could hear Hayes’ voice becoming tense.

 

“How about Tuesdays and Fridays in the evening and Wednesday in the morning?”

 

He was the bloody Tactical Officer and head of Security, not Hayes. So obviously he was in charge of deciding when exactly the training took place.

 

Hayes let out an audible huff.

“You’re not making this very easy.”

 

‘ _I beg your pardon, Major? It’s my decision._ ’Reed turned away and laughed faintly, a sorry attempt to keep his composure.

 

“I am not trying to make it difficult.”

 

“With all due respect, I think that’s exactly what you’re trying to do.”

 

It was the ‘ _with all due respect_ ’ part that made Malcolm Reed snap. He stopped and whirled around to glare back at the Major. Hayes was visibly annoyed, but the Lieutenant couldn’t care less.

 

“With all due respect? Is that what you call circumventing my authority?” Reed had raised his voice loud enough now that a couple crewmen walking by turned their heads.

 

“I wasn’t aware I had done that.”

 

‘ _Of course you were. Prick._ ’

“And what did you think you were doing when you went to the Captain with this proposal?”

 

Malcolm Reed was still yelling. It was rare that someone evoked such a strong reaction in him, made him lose control like this. Malcolm Reed didn’t like losing control.

But there was something about Major, _whatever his bloody first name was_ , Hayes that did and for that he loathed and despised the man.

 

“If I'd come to you first you'd have turned me down flat.”

At least he was being honest. Not that it would have been much use for Hayes to lie, anyway.

 

“You’re probably right, but the decision was mine to make!” Reed snapped.

The Major seemed to tower over him and it made him uncomfortable, stirring up a vague feeling of nausea in the pit of his stomach. 

He needed to physically remove himself from Hayes before …

 

“I didn’t mean to deprive you of the opportunity.” Hayes yelled after the Lieutenant as he stomped off.

 

 _Control_.

Malcolm Reed was desperately trying to regain his composure. He was a Starfleet officer, for heaven’s sake, not a participant in a bar fight.

Breathing. In and out. Slow, deep breaths.

When he turned around to face Hayes again, he could only whisper.

 

“I think that’s exactly what you meant to do,” Reed hissed.

 

Something in Hayes glance changed, although he wasn’t entirely sure what might have caused it.

 

“Whatever you might think, Sir, my only concern is the successful outcome of this mission,” Hayes replied and Malcolm Reed thought in some ways it almost sounded like a plea.

 

“As is mine.” He gave Hayes a sardonic smile, but made sure the Major knew exactly that it wasn’t friendliness that fueled it, but a threat. “Tuesdays and Fridays, in the evening.”

 

As he stormed off, he caught a glimpse of the MACO emblem and name tag on the sleeve of Hayes’ uniform.

 

_J. Hayes._

 

‘ _So the tosser has a first name._ ’Reed’s mouth twitched.

He didn’t look back as he left.

 

Hayes looked thoughtful.

 

 

 

On his way to his quarters on B-Deck Malcom Reed (almost literally) ran into Trip Tucker, who — seeing that it was Tuesday — was in a very jovial mood.

 

“You coming tonight, Malcolm? They’re playing one of the Bond movies. I think it’s the one where M dies, played by Judi Den —…” Tucker trailed off as he saw the Lieutenant glowering at him.

“Some good explosions.” He added quietly, his Southern drawl thick as ever.

 

“I have a couple reports to write,” Reed snarled, “so I won’t be joining tonight.”

 

He barely heard Tucker’s faint “Oh” as he quickly removed himself from the situation.

Back in his quarters Reed closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall, trying to finally calm down.

“Ah, piss off, Hayes,” he groaned and violently tugged on his uniform to remove it.

He felt exhausted and utterly defeated. And the worst was that not even Archer seemed to understand what Hayes was trying to do.

He had, in fact, circumvented his authority; he had tried to undermine Reed not only in his role as an officer, but on a personal level.

 

Malcolm Reed’s rage flared up again, white hot anger that wouldn’t let up, not even after he had showered for so long he was afraid he might’ve depleted the ship’s entire hot water resources for the evening.

Later on he tossed and turned around in his bunk bed, the walls closing in once more and felt the anger feast on his very soul.

Malcolm Reed closed his eyes and tried to think of Trip Tucker’s body illuminated by the deep blue hues of decon light, but all he saw was the Major’s face, Hayes’ face of all people.

Rage rolled over him like a tsunami.

Reed felt arousal mix with indignation — and before he could stop himself he thought of punching Hayes’ face, bruising the soft, well-shaven skin, a firm grip around the Major’s throat just above his Adam’s apple while he was prying open _J. Hayes_ ’ lips with his fingers.

 

The gestures held no gentleness, unlike when he thought about the engineer, where tenderness guided his imaginary moves.

No, he wanted to subdue Hayes, make him feel the anger and resentment, the hatred he felt for the Major and everything he stood for.

Would Hayes fight back? Or would Malcolm Reed be able to break his spirit until he gave in and surrendered? Would he beg as Malcolm dug his fingers into his short, slightly curly hair and abruptly pull his head back so that he could get a good look at the Major’s face.

Desperately gasping for breath, Malcolm Reed felt his core coil and his muscles tense up, yet his climax offered no soothing feeling of release, no relief for his anger.

It remained at the bottom of his stomach, alongside a dull feeling of torment and — shame.

 

He had taken things to far.

 

It didn’t matter if it was only his imagination, a mere fantasy, a scenario his volatile mind had made up.

He had thought of _hurting_ Hayes, and gotten off of it, for Christ’s sake.

Whether it had been real or not, he had crossed a goddamn line.

 

Malcolm Reed restlessly shifted around in his bunk bed for a while, pondering on his professionalism, his moral values, the apparent uncharted territories of his sexuality and whether his hatred for Hayes had become something else he couldn’t define.

He finally buried his face in his pillow and laid there very still while memories of his father’s voice mercilessly played over and over in his head, a sinister deja-vu of years of humiliation and condescension and somewhere in between he saw a still of the Major’s face, his green eyes as cold and stern as they had been the last time he’d seen them.

Even in his darkest moments the man wouldn’t leave him alone.

 

For once Malcolm Reed wished he could have cried like he was able to when he was merely a child — before he was an officer, before he apparently had turned to stone — but despite his hardest efforts to let go, nothing happened.

When sleep finally overtook the Lieutenant, it was 2:23 a.m. Earth Time.

 

 

***

 

 

He had dreamed of his father’s death, that much he knew when he woke up.

The way the man had looked at him, the way he had grabbed his wrist right before he drew his last breath.

Jeremiah Hayes still wondered what his last words had meant, or if it merely had been a last spark in the neural synapses of his father’s brain (or what had been left of it) that had caused him to utter this ominous, yet somehow so very facile, statement.

 

‘ _It is spring._ ’

 

Bad days, according to Jeremiah Hayes, Commanding Officer of the MACO detachment aboard Enterprise, oftentimes started out with fragmented memories of the past haunting him into his dreams. The human brain never ceased to amaze him.

Things he had long deemed forgotten were suddenly as clear as if they had happened minutes ago. Things he’d rather not remember in such detail.

 

He sighed as he put his uniform on.

They had a long day ahead. On top of their usual busy schedule today was the first week of their hand-to-hand combat training sessions. It was Wednesday, the only day Hayes got to train according to _his_ preferences.

‘ _At least the bastard granted me one day of training to take place in the morning_.’

 

Hayes rolled his eyes as he left his quarters. He needed to stop by the mess hall for some coffee, or else he’d probably throat punch somebody for no reason before training even began.

Good grief, the prospect of having to face Reed first thing in the morning made him unbearable, even for himself.

 

 

Half an hour later he found himself in the cargo bay giving a demonstration of the hand-to-hand combat exercises he and his team had done for years.

J. Hayes loved a good sparring. There was a thrill like no other in it — analyzing his counterpart, estimating what move he might make next, feeling his every sense heighten.

And now it was finally time to teach Enterprise’s crew a little bit about his favorite combinations.

As he ordered everyone to split up into pairs, he noticed that apparently Corporal Cole and Commander Tucker had gotten a little friendly since the last time he’d seen them interact. A little too friendly for his MACO standards.

 

‘ _Well, Reed’s gonna be just thrilled about them_ ,’ he thought and couldn’t help the grin that briefly flashed across his face. While he didn’t fully support his crewmen getting a little too chummy with Enterprise’s senior staff, he realized that the usual fraternization rules didn’t apply when it came to MACO and Starfleet personnel. Not that it really was that important.

 

Hayes focused his attention back to Ensign Mayweather — whom he had chosen to be the victim for the practice demonstration — fight one of his crewmen. Jeremiah Hayes had been very tempted to pick Reed, but figured soon enough that this would’ve been a bad idea.

Reed seemed to be strangely content though. He sported his trademark sardonic smirk, probably because a Starfleet officer was gaining the upper hand in this match.

‘ _My God, he’s petty and an asshole_ ,’ Hayes shook his head as he changed positions to get a good look at the two men sparring.

 

“Excellent combination,” he commented. That went way better than he had expected, Hayes had to admit.

 

The Major squinted as he watched Mayweather get floored. He knew exactly what had been the Ensign’s mistake, in fact, he himself had experienced it firsthand when he was a cadet in the MACO program.

 

“You were looking at his hands when you should’ve been watching his eyes,” Hayes explained.

It was the only way to tell a sparring partner’s — or your enemy’s — next move.

The Ensign’s lip had split when he had hit the floor, but it wasn’t too bad and Mayweather seemed to be holding less grudges than the Lieutenant, who now was clearly taken aback.

Hayes ignored him. They still had about twenty-five minutes left according to schedule. And he intended to make good use of the time — if Reed was a smart man he’d agree that they; heck, their mission, only could profit from the training. 

 

“All right, why don’t we take five minutes.” A short break, and then they’d regroup for some further exercises. Hayes turned around as he heard the Lieutenant’s voice.

 

“That’s all for today.”

Reed’s tone was determined and cold. He took a couple steps in Hayes’ direction.

 

For a moment Malcolm Reed’s brusqueness threw him off guard — so much that he couldn’t do more than gape at the Lieutenant initially, and it took a few seconds until Hayes regained his composure.

 

“We still have the shoulder throws to cover,” Hayes noticed that his own voice sounded a bit too perplexed for his taste. He mustn’t allow Reed to think he could corner him like that.

 

But he did.

Jeremiah Hayes wouldn’t have classified a man like Reed as threatening, given his stature and build, but he felt exactly that — threatened. This apparently wasn’t a bit of squabbling and locking horns, no, this was more.

Reed was serious. A stone cold look on his face. Sweat beading on his forehead.

 

Jeremiah Hayes knew when to retreat. There were fights you couldn’t win and ones you shouldn’t start, and this possibly was both. Reed wouldn’t give in.

 

“Okay,” to Hayes’ chagrin his voice still sounded as perplexed as it had before. He paused.

“For next time, work on your forearm blocks and elbow strikes.”

 

“Dismissed,” Reed snarled in direction of Tucker, T’Pol and the other bystanders. Hayes could see the Chief Engineer awkwardly move in one spot. Then everyone left.

The Lieutenant made a stern gesture ordering Hayes to follow him and moved into another part of the room where they’d have more privacy.

 

“What the hell was that?!” Reed hissed.

Realizing the man had him cornered, Jeremiah Hayes began to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t want to give in. Training the crew was as much his duty as it was Reed’s, but Hayes knew he had to choose his battles wisely. Maybe it would be wiser to simply apologize and …

 

‘ _Ah, fuck it._ ’

Hayes cleared his throat.

 

“That was a sparring demonstration.” He used just the right amount of well-tempered sarcasm and knew Reed was going to _love_ the smartass remark. He just couldn’t refrain from blurting it out. It was not like anyone had gotten killed.

Plus, it gave him somewhat of a thrill to wind Reed up. To see what would happen next.

Hayes watched as Reed’s mouth twitched and knew the Lieutenant was desperately trying to keep his cool. The slender hands were balled to fists.

Reed came closer, and Hayes could feel the heat that radiated from the Lieutenant. He was well aware Reed was tying to threaten him, but he felt none of it.

Maybe it was Reed’s sinewy, small frame and the fact the had to lift his head to look into Jeremiah Hayes’ eyes. Maybe it was the crisp British accent and the way his voice pitched an octave higher when the Lieutenant felt offended.

 

What Hayes felt was … _curiosity_.

 

The fascinating thing about Malcolm Reed was that he looked like easy prey. Like you could whoop his ass once or twice and then mop the floor with him, if you were a MACO and had gone through extensive combat training that is. But Hayes also understood that he wouldn’t have gotten the assignment if that was the case.

If they fought a sparring match together, how easy would it be to overpower Malcolm Reed?

Was there a chance Reed, if wound up enough, would resort to fighting dirty despite his military-like discipline and integrity?

There had been very few moments in his life and career were Jeremiah Hayes had made use of unfair methods in a physical fight. He admitted it hadn’t been the highlight of his personal nor professional development. It took anger to do that.

And Reed made him angry … although — no, that didn’t even come close.

 

There was a pressure point on each side the back of the neck that when pushed hard enough would make your opponent turn limp like a rag doll. Starfleet probably didn’t use Martial Arts techniques in their training sessions, so maybe it would take snooty Malcolm by surprise.

He imagined how he then would push the Lieutenant to the floor and lock him in a choke hold. He would make him feel his rage by sliding his arm up right under Reed’s throat, and observe carefully as the Lieutenant’s face became more and more flushed. Just before Reed would pass out, he’d let go, only to pull him closer by grabbing onto his hair.

He wanted to hear that clipped British voice beg him for release.

 

… ‘ _Okay, enough of that_.’

 

“It was way out of line. That last throw was completely unnecessary,” Reed snarled.

Apparently Hayes had wound him up pretty good. Maybe too good if he didn’t want to permanently damage their already tense working relationship.

The Lieutenant stepped even closer to the Major. Hayes had formerly thought the Lieutenant’s eyes were blue, but they seemed to be more of an icy grey now.

 

“He was on his feet. That made him fair game,” Hayes tried to sound matter-of-fact, but the sarcasm in his voice showed through nonetheless.

It was true though. In a real-life combat situation no enemy would spare them. And that was the whole point of the training.

 

“Fair game.” Reeds voice harbored disbelief, but Hayes sensed an undertone of … something he couldn’t make out. As much as Reed’s anger was predictable, most of his persona remained enigmatic.

“It’s just a little blood, Sir. No one got hurt.” Jeremiah Hayes tried to sound conciliating. The Lieutenant apparently didn’t buy it.

 

“These are training sessions, Major. If your men can't understand that then I'm going to put a stop to this right now. Is that clear?” The Lieutenant replied and Hayes knew he’d lost — once more. Reed wouldn’t give up control over the situation, even if it meant he was endangering the mission.

 

‘ _So much to only caring about the outcome of this … fuck._ ’ Hayes sighed. ‘ _Fucking liar_.’

 

The Major cleared his throat. “Perfectly.”

 

A sardonic smile spread on the Lieutenant’s face. “Jolly good,” he murmured, his narrow eyes as grey as storm clouds now.

As the Lieutenant left the cargo bay in a hurry, Hayes felt Reed brush his shoulder briefly.

 

The door closed with a hiss, and for some reason the silence that followed felt heavy, almost somber.

 

“Jolly good,” Hayes muttered. All he could do was force a wry smile. “Who even says that?”

 

 

 

The following day was successful regarding the crew’s progress during the training sessions, but when it came to working with a certain Tactical Officer … things had _snafu_ -ed. While there had been no fistfights between him and Reed in front of the whole crew during target practice, the Lieutenant probably was now plotting to discreetly dispose of him through the nearest airlock. Hayes grimaced.

 

Admittedly, this had been his own fault. The Major sighed, pulling on his uniform pants. After their last encounter, he had felt the need to pay the Lieutenant back for the way he had embarrassed him in front of both his men and the crew.

And did so by asking Reed to go first using their holographic target training system, starting him off at level two. Hayes knew how difficult the training really was, especially for those not used to the rigid training methods of the MACOs. He had wanted to offend Reed both on a professional and a personal level and had succeeded. Maybe a little too well.

The Lieutenant had done better than Hayes had anticipated. Not good enough for a real-life combat situation, but good for a beginner nonetheless. His score had gotten a lot better as the practice went on, even when they had kicked it up to level four and five.

 

Originally Hayes had planned to go over the schedule for the following training sessions with Reed, but the Lieutenant had simply ignored him and then bolted.

After that, Reed had avoided him whenever possible.

 

Although he had just showered and wanted to settle in for the night, he felt restless and decided to opt for a quick workout instead.

Jeremiah Hayes, still in uniform, entered the gym and was surprised to see Reed there. It was fairly late, and he knew Reed mostly worked the alpha shifts. He couldn’t tell whether the Lieutenant simply ignored him once again or if he was too absorbed in his shadow-fighting practice he conducted in front of one of the large mirrors in the gym.

 

The Major opted for the treadmill and, as discreetly as possible, watched Malcolm Reed as he rabbit-punched the air with his sinewy arms. He was quick, Hayes had to admit. Nimble. His grey muscle shirt was soaked in sweat and Hayes had expected nothing else. Reed probably enjoyed driving himself into the ground.

As he observed the Lieutenant, Jeremiah Hayes was aware of the steel blue eyes occasionally staring back at him. So apparently Reed wasn’t ignoring him anymore. Well, then.

 

He was about to leave as he heard the crisp accent shouting after him: “Are you leaving so soon?”

 

“I don’t want to distract you.” Hayes was being honest, although he made no secret of his annoyance. He didn’t feel like having another pissing match between him and Reed.

 

To his surprise, the Lieutenant sounded upbeat, almost ecstatic. “It's no distraction. In fact, I could use a sparring partner, if you're up for it.”

His sly smile challenged Hayes. There was a sparkle in his eyes now, and Hayes couldn’t help but notice that they were a calm steel blue now.

 

‘ _Oh yeah. Let me show you what sparring is like, Malcolm_. _You want a sparring match, and I’ll raise you West Point, New Berlin and Lunar Survival Training. Watch me_.’

 

Maybe this was the way to go. Jeremiah Hayes swiftly removed his uniform jacket. Maybe this would settle their differences once and for all. And he intended to — once and for all — show Malcolm Archibald Reed the true extent of what a MACO was capable of. It was about time somebody put the Lieutenant in his place … at least in combat.

 

He witnessed Reed enthusiastically rub his hands together and was surprised at the combination the Lieutenant threw.

‘ _Looks like snooty Malcolm put some extra practice rounds in._ ’

“Nice forearm block.” Hayes’ voice dripped with condescension. He watched Reed, a vein on the his forehead started to pulsate.

“Nice back-first. Show me the combination.”

 

When Malcolm Reed threw a row of quick punches, the combination they had practiced during the last training session, he immediately knew it wasn’t quick enough. Not by MACO standards at least. Lord only knew what Starfleet taught them.

The Major grabbed the smaller, sinewy man and threw him on the floor.

 

“Faster on the combination,” Hayes mentioned, a not-so-faint sarcasm showing through.

“You’re improving.”

He meant it though. Reed had improved, and part of him was staggered how fast Reed learned. He stepped closer to Reed once more to continue their match.

 

What happened after that was beyond Jeremiah Hayes’ understanding.

He had guessed that Reed was quick and agile, but he apparently hadn’t experienced it when the Lieutenant was making use of this trait to the fullest extent.

A swift kick to Hayes’ shin let the Major stumble, and the punch that followed was brutal. Hayes rubbed his aching cheek. He glared at Reed, who now didn’t even make any efforts to hide his spiteful grin.

 

“You want to keep that left up,” as softly as he spoke, the Lieutenant’s voice was filled with malice.

The chuckle that followed threw Hayes over the edge. Blind, white-hot rage welled up in him. A sensation Major Jeremiah Hayes hadn’t felt in a while. His kicks and punches were furious and followed no tactic except for trying to hurt Reed. God, he wanted throw him to the floor and strangle him right there and then.

Reed fueled his rage by repeating Hayes’ comments he had made during their last sparring session with the crew: “That's it, stay loose, excellent. You’re improving.”

 

The smug smile that had spread over the Lieutenant’s face as their match had begun still lingered, although Hayes noticed Reed’s eyes had changed once more. There was no doubt the man enjoyed these kind of power displays, that was for sure — the steel grey sparkle emanating from Reed’s glance made it clear.

A painful punch to his left kidney had Hayes groaning out in pain.

 

‘ _Son of a bitch!_ ’

The rabbit punches and kicks followed too quickly, and Jeremiah Hayes at this point wasn’t able to block them anymore. Before he could realize it, Malcolm Reed had grabbed him by the sleeve of his undershirt and extended a roundhouse kick to his stomach so hard Hayes felt like he was going to vomit.

For a man that just days ago had complained about the Major being to rough on a fellow senior officer …

No time for coherent thoughts. Reed grabbed him by the neck, kicked him right in his left shin and threw him on the floor, hard. Jeremiah Hayes barely was able to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape from his throat. The Lieutenant still tightly grabbed his sparring partner’s right wrist, holding his arm up just far enough to be painful, and pressed Hayes’ face to the floor.

“You see, you were looking at my hands when you should have been looking at my eyes,” Reed growled, and Hayes could hear the malicious grin in his voice.

 

‘ _But I did, Malcolm. I do it all the time, goddammit, and God only knows why I do it. Maybe because I’m trying to find some kind of goddamn humanity in them._ ’

If he hadn’t been so occupied with the excruciating pain in his right arm, face and kidney Jeremiah Hayes would have pondered on where exactly that thought came from.

 

With a growl Reed let him go and Hayes jumped to his feet. There was no way in hell he wasn’t going to pay Malcolm Reed back for this. This time he wouldn’t show mercy.

 

“Ok Lieutenant.”

 

“Major.”

Reed was practically laughing now. It was the first time Jeremiah Hayes had seen the man laugh, a few occasions aside when he watched him interact with his fellow officers in the mess hall. But he had never laughed in his presence, come to think of it.

With a quick wave of his hands he signaled the Major to resume the match.

 

Hayes knew this wasn’t about a simple sparring practice anymore — whatever they were doing ran way deeper, and it was beyond any Starfleet or United Earth Military compliant behavior. Did it display the keystones of their profession — honor, integrity, you name it?

Hell no.

But there was no way in hell he was going to stop it. Not before he had put Lieutenant Malcolm Reed in his place.

 

This time, it took Hayes only a punches and roundhouse kicks to have Reed in a firm hold on the floor. Reed gasped, his face twisting in pain.

“Tell me something …” Hayes hissed. “Why won’t you let me do my job?”

 

This time Reed gained the upper hand, once more throwing the Major to the floor. Hayes jumped back to his feet.

 

“Because you're here to enhance the combat capacity of this crew, not take over security.” The Lieutenant’s voice had dropped an octave. He practically spat out the words.

 

“Is that what this is all about? You think I want to replace you?” Hayes yelled back at him.

‘ _I knew it. This has nothing to do with the mission. This is all about Malcolm Reed’s fragile little ego_.’

 

“You just can't stand taking orders from me, can you?” Bouncing on the spot, Malcolm Reed got ready for another round.

 

‘ _What a load of crap_ ,’ Hayes thought and drove his right fist into Malcolm Reed’s chin.

He didn’t stop when he saw the man stumble, but instead kept punching and kicking him. Groans of pain filled the gym. Hayes reveled in the sound.

 

“I have no problems taking orders from you,” the Major replied.

 

A swift roundhouse kick to the Lieutenant’s face did it. He watched in content as Reed hit the floor with a moan. His lip was split, and there was a gash on his forehead that had started bleeding. 

 

“After Lunar Survival Training I could handle just about anything.” Hayes watched the Lieutenant carefully touch his bleeding lip in what seemed to be sheer disbelief.

 

“Good sparring with you.”

His words filled with acid, Hayes grabbed his uniform jacket and was about to leave the gym when he heard someone scream his name behind him.

 

It took him a second to realize what flew through the air hissing like a banshee wasn’t a feral cat, but Malcolm Reed, who then landed on his back and threw him on the floor.

 

Hayes had thought their previous encounter had been somewhat rough, but the extension to their sparring match ensuing in the hallway made whatever had taken place in the gym look like an afternoon tea party.

 

Punches, throws and kicks followed, and each of them tried to hit where it hurt the most. Hayes was pretty sure Reed bit him at one point. Strangely enough the pain heightened his every sense and made his skin tingle.

The hallway was filled with their gasps and groans, attracting an unsuspecting crewman who apparently had become curious as to what was going on.

 

“As you were!” Reed hissed before another of Hayes’ punches threw him across the corridor.

The crewmen ducked his head and quickly left.

 

Both of them tightly gripping each other’s throats, Reed suddenly let go and, with both hands, knife-handed Hayes in the shoulders before pulling the Major up by the neck and throwing him over his shoulders. Hayes hit the floor so hard his breath got caught in his throat.

He had never seen anything like this before.

He could still feel the warmth around his throat where Reed had grabbed him, lingering like an imprint.

 

“What was that?”

The surprise in Hayes words was audible, but most of all he sounded exhausted. They had driven each other to complete fatigue, but the Major knew they wouldn’t stop. Not until one of them was either seriously harmed, or …or …

 

“It's a little Klingon move I picked up.” Lieutenant Reed was barely able to stand.

Sweat dripping and breathing heavily, Hayes got up and they squared up once more, ready for another match, when the tactical alert blared through the corridor.

He watched Reed freeze in horror as the alarm kept sounding off.

 

 

“Tactical alert. Senior officers to their posts.”

 

 

Major Jeremiah Hayes had never been so glad to hear Captain Jonathan Archer’s voice.


	3. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm Reed's dislike for the Major culminates into something else (that he can't define).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head ...
> 
> (No pun intended. This is my first attempt in writing slash, so bear with me, pls.)

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed let out a labored breath.

Mainly due to the fact that his ribs hurt if he inhaled too deeply, and not just his ribs.

In fact, everything hurt.

 

His bruised and beaten back ached and his stomach still burned from the various kicks he had received. Most of all his left eye hurt, because the Major had thrown a rabbit punch right to his face and thus detached his retina.

He couldn’t close his mouth properly because his lips were split and swollen.

 

It was a wonder they had been as effective in combat after their whole … ordeal at the gym. And in the hallway.They had even been — to both of their surprise, Malcolm Reed guessed — able to work together as if nothing had happened. The Suliban had almost blown the bloody ship up by sticking his hand into the Warp Core.

 

Both him and the Major had tried to convince Dr. Phlox that their injuries were a result from the tactical alert and the encounter with the alien.

Lieutenant Reed knew Phlox was a smart man, but he had underestimated how unpleasant the Denobulan could be as soon as he realized they were lying right, left and center.

Reed watched Phlox’s trademark grin vanish as he had scanned both him and Hayes, and his questions were short, frosty and required prompt answers.

 

Hayes had a bruised kidney and two of his ribs were contused.

 

After Phlox had finished his examination, he had notified them he would have to perform a psychological evaluation on both Reed and Hayes. He also had made clear that he immediately would hand this matter over to the Captain.

While he was not only Enterprise’s doctor but also acted as the ship’s counselor, Reed knew that the severity of the situation required Captain Archer to step in. Everything else that might follow would be handled by Phlox.

 

Reed glanced over to Hayes, who stood next to him: Feet shoulder-width apart, hands tucked behind the small of his back, eyes focused sternly ahead.

How on Earth was Hayes capable of standing up that straight, with his bruised kidney and all? How could he look so dignified with his face black and blue? He looked like shit.

Hell, they both probably did.

 

Reed shifted awkwardly in his ‘at ease’ position. They had been waiting in the ready room for the Captain to arrive since a good fifteen minutes, and so far there was no sign of the man.

When Archer finally stepped into the room, Malcolm knew they were _up shit creek_ , as Commander Tucker liked to say.

 

The Captain took a long break and simply looked at the both of them.

 

“Doctor Phlox says you have a detached retina, a bruised left kidney.” A brief pause as his glance shifted from Reed to Hayes and back to Reed.

 

“We're in a dangerous region of space. We're trying to stop an alien race from destroying Earth. We face attacks from all sides, enemies everywhere we go. The last thing I need is to hear that two of my senior officers have been admitted to Sickbay because they suddenly regressed to the level of five year olds!”

 

Malcolm Reed had never before heard the Captain yell at one of his crew members. The Expanse had put all of them under an immense load of stress, and he could only take a wild guess how it must have affected Archer. Captain Jonathan Archer had changed.

At the beginning of their mission, Malcolm Reed had always wished the Captain had been more … _military_ , instead of his lax and casual friendliness.

He finally had gotten his wish, apparently. The new, improved Captain Archer was far less lax and naïve than the man he had met a couple years ago, who had held long speeches about gazelles and whatnot.

But did he really like the change?

 

“Captain.” Reed interjected.

 

“Don't try to tell me who started it! I don't know what the problem is between you two, and to tell you the truth I don't care, but I want it settled right now!” Archer thundered back.

 

‘ _This is gonna make the rounds on the ship tomorrow. Whoever is on the bridge is going to hear every bloody word_.’ Reed squeezed his eyes shut and immediately winced. Phlox had used the dermal regenerator, but had warned the Lieutenant that the healing process would be slow nevertheless. It was a detached retina after all.

 

“Settle it! That's an order!” Archer yelled and they both flinched. Even Hayes seemed to look somewhat unsettled under his mask of military professionalism.

 

“There's no problem, Captain.” Reed choked out. A blatant lie to put it frankly, but necessary at that moment.

 

“It’s settled, Sir!” Hayes barked out in his proper military voice.

 

They would have enough time to actually _settle_ their differences at a later point, Reed figured grimly. And hope that this time it wouldn’t entail a certain reprimand.

 

“How are the drills going?” The Captain’s voice was calmer now, but cold nonetheless. Reed knew it was to intimidate them both. A guilt trip to remind them that while they had been fighting like pubescent schoolboys, there was a _war_ out there to be fought. Earth’s fate laid on their shoulders, and him and Hayes had nothing better …

“Good, Sir!”

 

The Lieutenant flinched once more at the way Hayes was bellowing out his responses.

‘ _Look at the Major_ ,’ Reed thought sourly. ‘ _The poster boy of military discipline and obedience._ ’

 

He suddenly realized Archer was glowering at him and quickly responded with a strained “Very good, Sir!”

If Archer nodded, he barely noticed it.

 

The intercom beeped and Archer answered. It was Phlox notifying him the Suliban in sickbay had regained consciousness. Without so much as looking at the two officers standing at attention, Archer only responded with “On my way” and left Reed and Hayes without any further instructions.

 

The door hissed shut.

Then a long silence followed.

 

Malcolm Reed stiffly shifted on the spot. There was nothing worse than being left hanging by a superior. Especially when left in a room with the man who was basically his nemesis. Good grief, Hayes was still standing in perfect attention.

 

“Think we’re dismissed?” Reed murmured.

‘ _This is so bloody awkward._ ’

 

He looked at Hayes and … there was a grin spreading on the Major’s face.

Not the condescending little smirk he usually gave, no, this was J. Hayes smiling a true, genuine, pure smile — _despite everything_. The fistfight, the pain, the dressing down.

 

And for the first time it seemed to Malcolm Reed that Major Hayes was a human being, somewhere buried deep under that MACO shell. And it shone through the grin that still lingered on the man’s face.

 

“I think we are. Let’s go.”

 

 

 

They walked in silence to the turbolifts.

Unlike a certain Chief Engineer the Lieutenant didn’t feel the need to mindlessly blabber away tomake some sort of conversation. In spite of everything that had happened the silence between them wasn’t as uncomfortable as Reed had expected.

 

Hayes pushed the button to E-Deck.

“As the commander of the MACO contingent aboard I keep a couple extra dermal regenerators in my quarters. This is mainly for me and my men to use after our training sessions, but if you’d like to borrow one, I’m sure we can spare one or two. I had the feeling you didn’t like being in sickbay.”

 

‘ _Quite observant, the Major_.’ Indeed, Malcolm Reed hated it there. Being poked and prodded with needles, plus the obscure menagerie that Phlox kept in various cages and terrariums was bit much for him to handle most of the time.

 

He was too exhausted to realize he had followed Hayes to his quarters. It was like his brain was in a thick fog, his mind clouded by the throbbing residual pain in the left side of his face and he was slightly loopy from the painkillers Phlox had given him. He noticed that the Major had started limping halfway through their journey.

‘ _I got that bastard good_ ,’ Reed thought, but that feeling of satisfaction he had felt during the sparring match — specifically every time he had punched Hayes — had withered away and was replaced by a slow, harrowing feeling of shame.

 

Upon entering the Majors quarters Malcolm Reed was surprised: he would’ve assumed that as the leader of the MACO contingent aboard the ship Hayes’ accommodations would have been bigger. Instead, the quarters were noticeably smaller than his own.

Although size-wise the Major’s living space wasn’t exactly luxurious, Reed was filled with a sense of calm and content as he looked around.

The bed was made. A couple of PADDs were stacked neatly in the middle of the desk, and a spare uniform laid on top of the drawer, folded exactly according to military regulations.

There was something so satisfying about looking at this minimalistic and organized space because …

 

Because Hayes’ quarters looked like his own.

 

‘ _Maybe we’re cut from the same cloth and just don’t want to accept it_ ,’ Malcolm Reed noted, and immediately wanted to shove the stray thought back into the depths of his brain to forget it had ever crossed his mind.

 

To his discomfort, the Lieutenant noticed Hayes had been watching him silently. Reed’s eyes fell on the only book in the room. An actual, real book. Leather-clad, no less.

 

“The Art of War,” he mumbled, barely audible, but Hayes picked up on it still.

 

“My father gave it to me when I turned ten years old.” Reed could sense pride in J. Hayes’ voice. It must have meant a great deal to him.

 

“Your father is serving in the United Earth Forces as well?” The Lieutenant asked casually but Hayes shook his head.

 

“No. I’m the first in my family to have joined.”

 

Reed’s brow furrowed in earnest surprise.

 

“Rumor has it your father’s in the Royal Navy?” Malcolm’s face twisted at the question Hayes casually had thrown in his direction. Nosy bastard.

He hated small talk — even more so if it involved anything about his family.

Reed simply nodded stiffly.

 

“So, Starfleet, hm?” There it was again — that well-tempered sarcasm that drove Reed bonkers every time the Major opened his mouth.

 

“What about it?” The Lieutenant retorted sourly.

 

“I was just wondering why you didn’t join the Royal Navy instead, that’s all.”

 

“I have my reasons,” Malcolm Reed retorted coolly. Hayes chuckled quietly and shook his head.

 

He went to his drawer and pulled out a med kit. Wordlessly he handed Reed one of the dermal regenerators.

 

“I’m guessing those are rechargeable?”

 

“Yes, Sir. Dr. Phlox should be able to recharge them for you. Just bring them back to my quarterswhenever you don’t need them anymore.” Hayes paused. Something in his gaze shifted, a pained expression briefly flashed over his face.

“I feel that I should apologize, Sir. My behavior was uncalled for.”

 

“Are you referring to detaching my retina, Major?” Reed’s bone-dry response was accompanied by a lopsided smile.

 

Hayes grinned guiltily.

 

“Your behavior was uncalled for,” the Lieutenant paused for a while and then quickly added: “So was mine.”

 

An awkward silence spread between them. It wasn’t like Reed truly could stand the man, so why didn’t he just leave? There was no obligation to sit at Hayes’ sickbed. Yet Malcolm Reed wondered what kept him from bolting for the door.

 

“How is your kidney doing, Major?”

 

Malcolm didn’t ask so much out of concern but out of obligation since Hayes had asked him, and immediately cursed himself for doing so.

At least Tucker had the advantage of being charming when spewing out verbal nonsense, but Reed had none of that easy-going attitude.

He inadvertently bit his lip out of reflex and immediately tasted blood. The left side of his mouth started throbbing.

‘ _Fucking brilliant, Reed_.’

 

Hayes threw him a somewhat skeptical look.

“I’ll survive, Lieutenant. I think you might want to be a little more careful though. May I?”

He pointed at the dermal regenerator in Reed’s hand. The Lieutenant gaped at him quizzically.

 

Without words, the Major plucked the regenerator from Reed’s hand and activated it.

The low hum of the device filled the silence.

 

Hayes pointed the regenerator at Reed’s lip, slowly moving it back and forth from one end of the bruise to the other.

The action held a strange gentleness — a mere four hours ago they had been dead set on killing each other. And now?

He still didn’t trust Hayes, that much Malcolm Reed knew. The Major showing a hint of guilty conscience did not mean their ‘differences’, as Archer had called it, were settled.

 

As the Lieutenant stubbornly tried to pull away, J. Hayes let out a huff of frustration, putting hishand on the back of Reed’s head to not-so-gently shove him back toward him.

 

 

 

It was this small, and by Hayes’ intentions probably very innocent, gesture that completely undid Lieutenant Malcolm Reed.

 

 

***

 

 

There had been few occasions in his life Major Jeremiah Hayes had felt completely unprepared for. Following the military guidelines of assessing every situation in detail had become second nature to him a long time ago — yet, the unpredictability of a certain Lieutenant made it hard even for an experienced soldier like Hayes.

Or maybe it was simply because Reed was so damn quick.

 

Just as he had tried to move the Lieutenant’s head back toward the regenerator, Reed had suddenly grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and had shoved him against the nearest wall, hard.

He barely managed not to whimper in pain as his bruised ribs and kidney made contact with the metal panel. He really wasn’t in the goddamn mood for another sparring match.

“I thought our differences were settled, Sir.” Hayes growled remark, sarcastic enough to take the edge off the threat, remained unanswered.

Reeds hands still firmly clutched his uniform collar and the Lieutenant was now so close he could feel his uneven breath — a hint of peppermint and perhaps coffee — hitch occasionally, but he didn’t speak a word.

Stormcloud eyes were focused on Hayes’, not letting the Major out of their sight.

This was getting weird.

 

Jeremiah Hayes shifted under the Lieutenant’s iron grip.

 

“Look, Reed, I’m not in the mood for sparring.” His voice was merely a low growl, and he didn’t care about improperly addressing the Lieutenant.

 

Jeremiah Hayes quickly jerked his foot up to kick Reed in the shin, but the Lieutenant was quicker and deflected the attack. For a short time they jostled, Hayes trying to gain the upper hand and free himself from the vise-like hold Reed had him in, hands pushing and shoving.

As Hayes tried to force the Lieutenant away from him, Reed suddenly let go of his collar, grabbed him by the back of his neck instead and almost leapt at him.

 

Reed hovered centimeters away from his face, inching closer.

 

The kiss — or onslaught — that followed wasn’t gentle. It held neither tenderness, nor sweetness or affection.

This was nothing more than an extension of their sparring practice: a fight over dominance, a demonstration of personal power.

He hadn’t expected Reed to do this. Or had he? Did he really care?

 

Instinctually Hayes pushed the Lieutenant away to then instead pull him close.

The faint metallic taste of blood lingered on his lips, on his tongue, and he didn’t even know whose it was.

Was it his own? Was it Reed’s?

Maybe it was both —mixing on their lips, on their tongues, forming an invisible bond.

The thought thrilled and aroused Hayes.

He bit Reed’s lip, gentle enough to not injure the skin any more, but hard enough to remind him what this was.

He felt the Lieutenant grin into the kiss and before he knew it Reed’s hand was on his throat, choking him, putting him in his place.

Jeremiah Hayes always had known this: an unspoken truth, an open secret he shared with no one but himself. He didn’t want gentleness. He didn’t need tender touches and treacly declarations of love.

What he wanted was _exactly this_ , and Reed was the first to finally understand.

 

Trembling hands reached for zippers and buttons.

Low gasps of breath filled the air, occasionally disturbing the silence in the room.

 

As little sympathy as he had for Starfleet and its practices, Hayes had to admit that their boiler-suit uniforms had their advantages. Specifically when it came to taking them off.

He forcefully pushed the zipper of Reed’s jumpsuit down all the way to his waist, pulling the sturdy fabric over the Lieutenant’s shoulders. Hayes observed the faint scratches on Reed’s upper arms, remnants from their fight. He briefly slid his finger over one of them.

 

Wrestling with his pants and boots, Hayes cursed his inability to bend over properly due his contused ribs.

 

“Leave them on,” Reed hissed. “This isn’t going to take long.” He pushed his own uniform down far enough, exposing a pair of bright blue standard issue Starfleet briefs barely containing his erection.

He slid a hand under Hayes’ shirt.

 

“Take it off. I want to see your bruises.”

 

Hayes complied, gasping for breath.

The way Reed commanded, demanded, made his arousal rise to a fever pitch and he grabbed Reed’s undershirt, pulling it up and over his head.

Several bruises on the base of his neck glowed in blue and purple hues.

He snaked his arms around the Lieutenant’s waist and pulled him closer, sucking in a sharp breath as Reed’s hardness touched his own and then lowering his head to claim the Lieutenant’s mouth once more, sucking and biting on his lip.

He felt Reed unbuckle his pants, impatiently opening the button and pulling the zipper down. The Lieutenant pushed his uniform trousers down far enough to free Hayes’ throbbing cock from the MACO-issued boxer brief, then doing the same with his own.

 

As their erections finally met, Jeremiah Hayes let out a deep groan, his last remotely coherent thought fleeing.

His fingers entwined in Reed’s surprisingly silky hair he pulled his head up so violently that he heard the Lieutenant utter a small moan — the first time he’d ever made a sound during their encounter.

 

He wanted to devour Reed. He wanted to taste, to consume, every fiber of his being. Wanted to rule him, like he had done when they …

 

He wasn’t prepared for the open-handed slap Malcolm Reed delivered to his face and it had him cursing obscenities under his breath. The Lieutenant threw him a sardonic smile, his right hand traveling south viciously slow.

 

“Sweet fucking Christ.”

Hayes could barely choke the words out.

 

Reed’s hand was now firmly wrapped around his cock, and he worked Hayes in long, steady, hard strokes from base to tip.

Clearly he was experienced doing what he did — a different kind of practice you get when you’re alone during extended training sessions for a while.

No, Malcolm Reed knew exactly what he was doing.

And judging from the malicious smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, he enjoyed every minute of torturing Hayes.

 

Jeremiah Hayes reached for the shorter man’s heat, and he felt awkward and shy. Hayes was experienced when it came to women. And although he had never done anything like _this_ before, giving Reed’s cock a couple firm strokes felt strange and familiar all at once.

 

“Harder,” Reed growled and the silent command, the clipped British accent, made Hayes’ skin tingle for a second. He was in control all the time. Losing it — being deprived of it — felt good.

Just like him the Lieutenant liked to be handled rough, and he reveled in the few faint noises Reed made as he increased the speed, working him harder.

While Reed was almost eerily quiet, the Major’s low growls echoed in his quarters.

 

“Oh fuck… don’t stop. Don’t.”

 

Desperately trying to catch his breath, feeling the blood pulse in his veins, Hayes trembled on edge.

He heard Reed gasp and shortly after felt the Lieutenant’s hand close around his throat once more. The lack of oxygen compounded every sensation, his body begging for release.

 

He hardly was able to bite back the moan erupting from his throat as he came, warm semen splattering over Reed’s hand and his abdomen and he felt his legs starting to shiver.

Tryin not to break the rhythm he opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of Malcolm Reed — his head thrown back slightly, eyes closed as he silently mouthed words Hayes couldn’t make out.

Just moments later, Hayes felt warm come hit his stomach, the sticky fluid covering his fingers and his palm.

Reed had been perfectly quiet except for when he had suddenly sucked in a sharp breath as he climaxed.

 

His legs still shivering, Jeremiah Hayes sunk to the floor, breathing heavily. He stretched out his legs and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the hand that wasn’t covered in semen.

He looked up to see Reed look at him with an expression that was hard to read — a sardonic smirk paired with a pained expression in his eyes.

He grabbed Hayes’ undershirt off the floor and started wiping his stomach first and afterwards thoroughly wiped his hand on it.

Then he threw the shirt in Hayes’ lap, pulling up his briefs and jumpsuit.

Hayes watched him as Reed pushed his uniform zipper up with one swift motion and picked up the dermal regenerator that had fallen to the floor as they had started wrestling for dominance. Steel grey eyes returned the glance.

 

For a second, Jeremiah Hayes wondered if he should say something, _anything_ , but between his brain being clouded by the afterglow of their encounter and the pain in various parts of his body ramping up again, he decided it was better to stay silent.

 

One last time Malcolm Reed looked at him, the same strange expression on his face. Without saying a word he turned around and left Hayes’ quarters.

 

 

 

For a long time Hayes just sat there in the darkness of his quarters, leaning against the wall as he had done when Reed had left. Not knowing how much time had passed he watched the reflection on the wall, cast by the stars drifting past the viewport.

He felt … he didn’t even know what he felt.

 

“Computer, lights!” He finally bellowed out, immediately shutting his eyes as the brightness hit him.

He stumbled onto his feet, pulling down his both his uniform pants and boxers, almost tripping over his boots as he tried to kick them off.

 

He didn’t know nor cared how long he stood under the scalding mist of the shower, washing off the remnants of Malcolm Reed on his body. The hot water burned his bruises, but he didn’t care.

At no point in his life had he felt so confused.

About who he was as a person. About where he stood with Reed.

He was confused and frankly almost a little hurt. And somewhere in there, meddled in with the rest of unidentifiable emotions, was a hint of shame.

 

“Get a grip, you fucking coward,” he mumbled to himself.

What did he expect? That Reed would’ve fallen to his knees and declared his undying love for him?

 

This whole ordeal more or less had been an extension of their fight. It was about dominance, pure and simple.

 

Nothing else.

 

 

 

***

‘ _Bloody fucking shit_.’

 

Malcolm Reed had never made it from E-Deck back to his quarters on B-Deck so quickly.

He clumsily plopped himself down on the bunk bed and hid his face in his hands.

What the hell had he been thinking?

What the hell had he _done_?

 

‘ _Let me just go ahead and shag the guy I beat to pulp a couple hours ago. No big deal!_ _What the bloody hell were you thinking, Reed?_ ’

 

On top of that Hayes technically outranked him.

While Reed was the Tactical Officer, and due to the environment and the circumstances of their mission therefore remained in charge, Hayes was still a goddamn Major and he was a Lieutenant.

 

He had initiated a sexual relationship with a superior, just hours after getting a formal reprimand and a dressing down from the Captain for getting into a physical fight with said superior.

 

“Bloody fucking marvelous.”

 

 _Up shit creek_ didn’t even come close to where he felt he was stuck. This was a disaster waiting to happen, and before he knew it he was in full-on panic mode.


	4. Single Malt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayes and Reed still don't get along, and a 'mutiny' aboard doesn't make it any easier. But a change might be on the horizon ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took forever and a day, mainly because this month has been a beast and work plus other stuff got in the way of writing. Thanks to all of you who have been so patient with me - I hope the next one won't take as long.  
> This chapter contains spoilers for season 3, episode 17 "Hatchery".

If he had had any time to think about that fateful night in Hayes’ quarters, he would’ve done so — but truth be told, time was the last thing they had. Neither did Malcolm Reed really have the mind to think about how their relationship (if you could call it that) had changed.

 

Instead, him, Tucker and T’Pol had discovered an Xindi hatchery full of insectoid eggs and now the Captain was off his rocker having decided these “children” needed to be saved.

Malcolm Reed had been utterly confused by this sudden outburst of feeling on Archer’s side. Maybe this was a counter reaction to his recent shift of becoming impatient, gruff and, frankly, cruel.

His plan to save the hatchlings had even rubbed Commander Tucker the wrong way, who usually had a serious case of hero worship going on when it came to the Captain. But they weren’t talking about _human_ children after all — they were Xindi. The same species that had killed seven million people.

And while Reed appreciated the ethical aspects of Archer’s argument, it nonetheless something seemed _fishy_.

Majorly.

 

‘ _Speaking of which_ ,’ he thought sourly. A brief eye roll followed.

 

Hayes had been so … neutral it was almost creepy. Malcolm had anticipated there would be an awkward silence, maybe even an unpleasant conversation, but instead none of that had happened.

No, Hayes was just … _Hayes_.

Calculated, professional and almost cold.

The only one who was awkward and gawky now was Reed, and he cursed himself once more.

After all, he had initiated it.

 

They had squabbled over the training schedule at one point during a short flight in the shuttle pod, but except for the duty-related encounters it was radio silence. Nothing. Hayes hadn’t even flinched when he had seen him the first time after their … encounter in his quarters. No blushing, not even an odd look.

 

Reed rubbed the bridge of his nose.

 

He remembered _everything_.

 

The way Hayes had tasted, the hint of day’s worth of stubble under Reed’s lips and fingertips. The way he had moaned and choked out all kinds of delicious vulgarities under his breath shortly before he came. The way he smelled.

 

Whether he wanted it or not, the memories sent a shiver down the Lieutenant’s spine.

 

He shook his head.

They had a war on their hands. Earth’s fate laid on their shoulders, the literal weight of the world, and now Archer had decided to put a couple of insectoid eggs before the welfare of his crew.

 

This was not the time to think about Hayes.

Why would he think about Hayes anyway?

 

Malcolm Reed rubbed his eyes with both fists and buried his head in both hands.

Repairs on the ship were going excruciatingly slow, and they had more work on their hands than any sane person could handle.

When was the last time he had slept more than three hours? If this continued on there would only be caffeine left to circulate through his veins.

He snorted humorlessly.

 

He was supposed to meet both Travis and Tucker in the mess hall fifteen minutes ago, but so far he was the only one who had made it. Not that it surprised him — the engine had taken a heavy beating, and the Commander had been working round the clock.

And while the repairs were underway they essentially were sitting ducks, floating in orbit. It was a recipe for disaster, and all Archer cared about were a bunch of insects crawling in a crashed and otherwise empty ship. Reed shuddered.

He looked at the PADD in his hand.

 

“Hey,” Trip Tucker’s voice came out of nowhere and startled him for a second.

“Sorry I’m late. The repairs are fucking killin’ me. Travis just commed me, he will be here in a second.”

 

“No problem, Sir.”

Reed smiled at the familiar drawl.

 

Mayweather joined them just a minute later, out of breath and apologizing profusely.

 

Reed had been able to quickly determine that in order to disable the security protocols it was necessary to remove several relays.

 

“We can’t initialize the engines without them,” Tucker interjected.

 

“What about the ship on the surface?” Mayweather furrowed his brow. “We might be able to salvage what we need.”

 

“Yeah.” Tucker’s huffed response sounded doubtful.

 

“Any word on how much longer he’s planning to stay in orbit?”

This was a touchy subject to bring up, and Reed knew it. Criticizing the Captain never went down well with Tucker.

 

“The repairs are moving slow.” The Commander’s frustration was palpable.

 

The Lieutenant took a deep breath and shifted in his seat. What he was about to say was not gonna please Tucker either, but he needed to get it out. Something was up with Archer, and if anyone knew more details it was probably Trip.

 

“I'd be the last to question the Captain's orders, but doesn't it seem a little odd that we're staying here to save a nest of Xindi?”

 

He watched as Tucker’s eyebrows shot up in annoyance.

 

“The Captain thinks it's the right thing to do. We may be at war, but these creatures need our help.”

 

‘ _There it is_ ,’ Reed thought. ‘ _Dare to question one single move of the great Jonathan Archer and Charles Tucker III loses his nerve_.’

 

“Meanwhile, their big brothers are trying to destroy Earth.” Reed added dryly.

 

“Every day we stay here gives them more time to finish their weapon.” Travis threw in. He had a point.

 

“Look,” Tucker had raised his voice, which was unlike him, Reed remarked. The Commander quickly looked around, as a couple crewmen had focused their attention on them. He immediately lowered his voice again, but his tone remained stern.

“There's a chance we'll run into more Insectoids when we reach that red giant. Spending an extra day or two studying their tactical systems might be useful.”

 

While that was true, Reed didn’t really consider it a satisfying response.

They split up after a while, Travis heading back to the bridge while Reed and Tucker made their way down to the Armory and Engineering.

 

Malcolm Reed discreetly studied the face of the man who occasionally visited him in his nightly fantasies: Exhaustion had left deep circles under his eyes and seemed to have carved wrinkles on his forehead and between his eyebrows where there had been none before.

 

‘ _Remember that mission of exploration we signed up for_?’ The thought burned through his brain like acid.

“I’m sorry for what I said in the mess hall,” Reed didn’t look at the Commander. The apology felt insincere, maybe because he was so used to apologizing all the time. “It wasn’t my place to question the Captain’s orders.”

 

He watched as Tucker’s mouth opened and his tongue flicked out briefly, a gesture that — even after all these years, even after _Hayes_ — stirred more feelings in him than he’d like to admit.

 

“…’S okay,” Tucker finally drawled, voice low, maybe from exhaustion, maybe due to annoyance. “I mean, you do have a point there. The Cap’n’s been behaving a bit off, I won’t lie. But I still trust him to do the right thing.”

 

“I’m merely saying it’s not a good idea to wait out that long. There isn’t much we can do for this hatchery.”

 

The Commander tilted his head and let out a snort — a clear sign to Reed he needed to _knock it off_ , as Tucker would put it. Trip then resorted to what he liked doing in these situations: he changed the topic.

 

“I’ve noticed you and Hayes seem to have mellowed out a little bit.” The smile that spread over the Commander’s face gave a clear indication of how much Reed’s facial expression must have derailed. “I’m guessing you settled your differences after your little fistfight?”

 

‘ _Fucking bastard_.’

 

“There are no differences,” the Lieutenant retorted tonelessly. He took a sharp right to the closest turbolift.

“I have to retrieve something from my quarters. If you need anything, I will be in the Armory. I’ll see you later, Sir.”

 

And with that, he simply left Tucker right there, not seeing the way the Commander shook his head and gave him a shit-eating grin as he left.

 

Malcolm Reed’s blood boiled already.

 

 

***

 

 

Jeremiah Hayes nervously tapped his foot.

Archer had summoned him to his ready room, wanting to speak to him right away after Enterprise had encountered an Insectoid vessel that quickly had been destroyed by a torpedo fired by Reed.

This action apparently had led to the Lieutenant being relieved as the Tactical Officer on the spot, and now he was in charge of the tactical aspect of the mission.

Archer had demanded absolute loyalty from him. He also gave him full command of the ship while Archer was away on the surface of the planet.

 

The Major let out a deep breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Under different circumstances he would’ve been way more elated to know that Reed had to report _to him_ now.

But instead of sensing a smug feeling of victory over the Limey bastard he felt strangely unsettled.

 

Something was seriously wrong with the Captain. Archer wasn’t himself anymore, and he couldn’t figure out what had happened.

He had shown severe signs of paranoia, thinking that Reed might have destroyed the ship on purpose, which was highly unlikely. Reed was loyal to a fault.

Had Archer simply snapped under the pressure of war?

 

Then he reminded himself that as a MACO, his job wasn’t _to think_ — he was here to carry out orders. It came down to this simple truth.

A part of him wanted to head over to the Lieutenant’s quarters, where Reed was confined until further notice, but that wasn’t his job either. Besides that, he wasn’t even sure if Malcolm wanted to see him, given the recent developments.

 

‘ _Malcolm._ ’

When had he started referring to Reed by his first name? He highly doubted that Reed would be thrilled about that. Hayes also wasn’t sure if Reed even knew _his_ first name.

 

They were strangers.

So why did his thoughts circle back to the Lieutenant?

 

He moved around in the Captain’s chair.

He was exhausted. It made him jumpy and sent his brain into weird loops sometimes. When was the last time he had actually slept, not just dozing off in his quarters between his shifts?

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Hayes didn’t even know how he was still functioning.

 

T’Pol had been confined to her quarters, just as Reed had been. The only remaining senior crew members who usually were working on the bridge were Ensign Sato, whose discomfort was palpable. And then there was Ensign Mayweather, who — to Hayes’ surprise — had mostly kept a perfect poker face so far.

Archer had been at the hatchery for a while now. He should probably contact the Captain soon to get an update on the status.

 

Hawkins contacting him via comm interrupted the Major’s train of thought. He informed Hayes that Corporal Chang had been found unconscious in T’Pol’s quarters, where he was supposed to stand guard in front of the Subcommander’s habitat.

 

“Where’s T’Pol?” Trouble was on the horizon. Hayes felt it.

 

Hawkins’ response unsettled him even more.

“Not here, Sir.”

 

‘ _Great_.’

He needed to contact Reed. But there was no answer coming from the armory.

 

‘ _Where the heck is the bastard_?’

 

 

Jeremiah Hayes had his answer a mere thirty seconds later, when both Reed and T’Pol stormed the bridge. He was surprised to see her in a Starfleet uniform, not in one of her catsuits.

Stormgrey eyes stared back at the Major as Reed pointed a phaser at him. A couple of his MACO men got up and pulled their phase pistols in return.

 

“You intend to shoot me, Lieutenant?” Hayes’ voice remained sarcastic, but he knew that things weren’t looking good. He had let Archer down. He still had his orders.

 

“Tell them to stand down,” Reed hissed. The gun was still pointed right between Hayes’ eyes. He only needed to look up a bit and the muzzle hovered in his view field like a floater, some sort of dark orb between him and Reed.

 

“The Captain relieved you of duty. Both of you,” Jeremiah Hayes snarled back at the Lieutenant. He had orders, for Christ’s sake.

 

The Vulcan chimed in, her voice harboring the same collected, almost cold tone it always had.

“We don’t want anyone injured. Put down your weapons.”

Reed didn’t move.

 

‘ _Like he was going to_.’ No, the man would probably rather die on the bridge right there and then than to put his phaser down.

 

“Contact the Captain,” he snarled in Ensign Santos direction, but was immediately interrupted by T’Pol.

 

“Belay that order.”

 

Hayes threw Sato a stern look — she looked hesitant. This wasn’t exactly going well. Nothing was.

 

“I gave you a direct order, Ensign.” His voice had dropped a couple octaves.

 

Ensign Sato let out a sigh.

 

“I’m sorry, Major.”

 

‘ _You are sorry? Archer gave me full command of the ship, and you know it. This is not me making any of this up. This was a direct order given by your Captain, and apparently I’m surrounded by a bunch of goddamn mutineers_.’

 

Just as he tried to open the comm channel himself, Hayes’ musings were interrupted by Travis Mayweather, who threw himself against him and knocked the Major to the floor.

 

 

 

It hadn’t been exactly one of Jeremiah Hayes’ most successful days.

In fact, it ranged very much in the realm of days he’d honestly rather forget about.

After Mayweather’s stint on the bridge _he_ had been confined to his quarters — confining members of the crew to their quarters apparently had become the new thing on Enterprise — and the Ensign had also brought him back to his habitat, where he had spent the greater part of the day.

 

From that point on, he was kept out of the loop and spent the next couple hours reading, getting more and more irked about the fact nobody had been keeping him updated on the situation whatsoever.

It was Malcolm Reed who finally was gracious enough to show up at his door to inform him the Captain was back on Enterprise, where he had been treated in sickbay and was now resting in his quarters.

Reed walked Hayes to sickbay, where Phlox had a couple questions for the Major — namely when exactly the Captain had started to behave strangely.

And suddenly everything had made sense to Hayes: the moment he and Archer had been in the hatchery, one of the eggs had squirted a liquid substance into the Captain’s face.

Apparently that hadn’t been just some sort of defense mechanism: it, in fact, had been a strong neurotoxin that had caused Archer to bond with these eggs.

 

Hayes shook his head in disbelief.

This was where Lunar Survival Training and West Point clearly fell short — they were in deep space, and nothing could have prepared him for the things he had encountered so far.

 

He looked at Reed, who mustered him with the same enigmatic look he always seemed to give him these days.

 

“Not the sort of thing they trained us for at West Point,” Hayes remarked.

 

The response that followed was rather dry.

“I imagine not.”

 

The Major paused for a second.

“You could have come to me, explained the situation.”

 

Reed smiled wryly.

“We couldn't take the chance that you'd side with the Captain.”

 

He had a point. From a tactical aspect Reed’s actions had only been logical.

 

“I probably would have,” Hayes admitted. There was no point in being dishonest with the Lieutenant. Especially not now that Reed had been honest with him.

 

“Yeah,” Malcolm replied quietly.

 

A long, slightly uncomfortable silence followed as they waited for the turbolift to arrive.

Jeremiah Hayes wanted to say something, _needed_ to say something, but he had underestimated how difficult it was.

He had thought that the incident in his quarters somehow had broken the ice, that it would be easier to approach Malcolm Reed from here on, but it had gotten harder instead.

 

The door hissed shut and the lift whirred to life. Hayes felt the faint flutter in his stomach as they dropped, the lift catapulting them to B-Deck.Absentmindedly he reached for the door panel and halted the turbolift — only to realize that Reed had moved in the same direction.

 

‘ _Of course_ ,’ a lopsided smile crossed his face. ‘ _What better place to talk on a spaceship than the goddamn elevator_.’

 

The air suddenly felt thick and heavy, like an electrostatically charged fog hanging between them. Hayes swallowed. A vague feeling of nausea rose up in him, maybe from the acceleration of the turbolift, maybe from the way Malcolm Reed stared at him, his eyes a bit bluer than usual.

 

“I feel that I should apologize, Major,” Reed’s voice was tense. Apparently Hayes wasn’t the only one who felt highly uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean to escalate the situation like that, but frankly I saw no other way.”

 

Hayes nodded. He understood — each one of them had done what was right in _their_ book.

 

“Mal…-” Hayes cleared his throat and quickly corrected himself. “Lieutenant Reed, I hope you are aware that it is my duty to obey orders. The Captain had given me a direct order. It is not my place to second guess, or to assume. I am a MACO.”

He practically barked the words out, hoping it somehow would distract Reed from the slip-up.

 

“I am aware of it, and I expected nothing else, Major. You did the right thing… to your standards.” To Hayes’ surprise, the remark didn’t hold any venom. It was simply a statement.

 

“Also, since you seem to know my first name, maybe it is time you formally introduce yourself to me?” Reed’s words were laced with biting sarcasm. So there was the venom. He should’ve known Reed better.

Jeremiah Hayes felt himself blush — a reaction he deeply hated, his body betraying him.

Out of reflex he assumed an at ease position.

 

“Jeremiah Hayes. We’ve had the pleasure.”

He felt utterly idiotic, especially after realizing how much innuendo the last sentence held.

 

Reed remained silent and didn’t bother to face Hayes, until he suddenly tilted his head and looked up to face the Major, flashing him one of his trademark sardonic smiles.

 

“Indeed,” he replied dryly.

 

Hayes let out a breath he had been holding for a little too long. He felt lightheaded, maybe from exhaustion or from the tension between them.

 

“I feel that there are a few things we should probably discuss…,” he began, but stopped at the skeptic look Reed threw him.

 

“I don’t see how there is much to discuss,” Reed replied, and Hayes could sense the thinly veiled lie. He wasn’t good at lying.

“But if you absolutely must, I have a bottle of single malt in my quarters and you’re more than welcome to share some with me. Unless you’d rather sleep. You look like you haven’t done that in a while, if I may say so.”

 

“Likewise,” Hayes response was drenched in sarcasm. “And I’d like to, thanks.”

 

Without further ado, he flipped the button on the panel and the turbolift whirred to life again.

 


	5. A Heavy Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A death of their own brings Reed and Hayes closer together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm still super slammed with work and whatnot, so naturally this chapter took a little bit again. I hope you enjoy reading it :)  
> (Spoilers for season 3, ep. 22 "The Council")

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed swirled the whiskey around in his glass.

This was the good stuff, real single malt Scotch from the Highlands, not the gnat’s piss that Tucker had tried to pass off as whiskey to him — ‘ _Kentucky Bourbon_ ’ or whatever he had called it.

 

Hayes was sitting opposite to him on Reed’s bunk bed, staring into the glass like it was some sort of scientific experiment.

He didn’t feel exceptionally comfortable having the Major in his quarters, but the thought of being back in Hayes’ habitat unsettled him. This was where they had … a sudden wave of _wanting_ rushed over him.

So far they hadn’t gotten to the talking part, and Reed suspected if he didn’t make the first move not much was going to happen.

 

“Is there anything in specific you needed to talk to me about, Major?” Reed tried to keep the sarcasm down and failed miserably. Hayes shot him an irritated look, though he didn’t voice his frustration.

 

“There is,” he replied simply. Then he paused again.

“To make it short, Lieutenant, what the _heck_ was that?”

 

He didn’t specify what he meant by ‘that’. He didn’t need to.

 

Now that was an excellent question. What had it been?

Not for the first time in his life — and quite possibly not for the last — Malcolm Reed had wished he had Trip Tucker’s easy, if sometimes fatuous, eloquence; his ability to voice his thoughts brutally honest and outspoken, seemingly without any deeper thought. Malcolm Reed was not like this.

And worst of all, he couldn’t be honest. Neither with Hayes nor with himself.

 

The truth was no person had ever riled him up like _Jeremiah_ — the first name sounded strangely foreign, like _Jeremiah_ and _Hayes_ were two completely different people — Hayes had done. He had made Reed angry to a point of rage and he had filled him with a longing for intimacy, for touch, he thought had been reserved for his variety of fantasies about a certain Chief Engineer.

The Chief Engineer who, unlike Hayes, would forever be unavailable for him.

But it had been more than that.

 

As much as he had wanted Hayes that night in the Major's quarters … he couldn’t help but think about how much he _hated_ Hayes.

What he stood for.

The military precision that reminded him of his father, the prim and proper way of conducting himself down to the pedantic tidiness of his living space.

 

Hayes also reminded him of himself.

And if there was one thing Malcolm Reed truly couldn’t stand it was _himself_.

 

Maybe that’s why it was so hard to figure out why he had leapt at Hayes that night.

If he despised him so much, then _why_ …?

 

“My behavior was out of line, Major. I apologize,” Reed replied stiffly.

 

Hayes looked up from his glass. He hadn’t really touched any of the Scotch yet.

 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Hayes’ voice was deep and firm.

 

‘ _Well, Major, it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure that out, now does it_?’ Reed snorted.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have done that.

 

He watched as Hayes suddenly shuffled on the bunk bed, emptied his glass with one swift move — not even gasping at the sharp taste of the liquid, not even flinching, Reed noticed — and then got up.

 

He put the glass on the nightstand and pointed a finger at the Lieutenant, stabbing it in the air where it hovered between them.

 

“One of these days, Reed, you owe me an explanation. You can’t hide behind your Starfleet regulations and your half-hearted apologies forever.”

 

He turned on his heel and was about to leave, when he turned around and said quietly, but with words full of spite and sarcasm: “Thanks for the Scotch.”

 

The door hissed shut behind him.

 

Malcolm Reed stared into space for a while.

Hayes’ words had hurt. Not because he had spoken in anger, but because they had pointed out a truth Reed couldn’t deny.

 

He looked at the half-empty the glass in his hand and then all of a sudden threw it against the wall, where it shattered and its contents spilled onto the floor.

 

 

He needed sleep.

 

 

 

***

 

Jeremiah Hayes woke from a short and unsettled night of sleep.

He felt disoriented, mainly because he had dreamed that he was back in New Berlin for his Lunar Survival Training as a twenty-something cadet.

In a sick and twisted turn he felt only his brain could come up with, Reed had been his instructor and for most of the time they had been alone in the training area.

 

He rubbed his eyes, cursing under his breath.

 

The session had been brutal, similar to their sparring match, yet sexually charged; and it hadn’t been long until the dream had been headed into a completely different direction.

Thankfully the alarm had gone off before they could have gone any further, although Hayes had to admit that he was curious about how … he firmly squashed the thought as soon as it popped up.

 

He flung his right arm over his eyes and laid there, fragments of the dream returning back into his mind.

Reed’s pale, sinewy body. His slender hands roaming across Hayes’ chest, the feel of his slightly rough fingertips.

It had felt so damn real.

 

Hayes groaned.

If he didn’t get up now, he’d be running late.

 

 

When he finally made it out of bed, he was running a full fifteen minutes late — an occurrence that hadn’t happened in years. Major Jeremiah Hayes never ran late.

On his way to the cargo bay he bumped into Hawkins, who was half dressed in his EV suit about to head out. The Corporal shrugged apologetically as he saw Hayes’ confused face.

 

“Lieutenant Reed has asked me to accompany him to the sphere,” he explained.

 

Hayes nodded. Him and Reed had briefly talked about possibly taking MACO personnel along when it came to retrieving a memory core from one of the spheres, but for some reason he had assumed Reed would take him along.

A feeling overcame him. Jealousy? He brushed the thought aside. This was about their mission, not about his goddamn feelings.

On top of that Hawkins had way more experience in an EV suit than Hayes ever had. He had served on Janus Loop before, which required him to have more that one thousand hours in that beast of a protective gear.

Despite all of his expertise, Hayes couldn’t offer that.

 

“It is fine. Go ahead Corporal,” the Major said firmly.

 

He trusted Hawkins to do the right thing. But did he trust Reed to make the right decisions?

Even if he questioned Reed’s style of command, Archer would accompany them as well. It was fine.

He stopped in the mess hall for some coffee and then headed over to the cargo bay to begin their morning training.

 

 

In hindsight, maybe he should have send Hawkins off with something more than this brief and impersonal command. He was a fine soldier. His tactics were promising, his scores were excellent. But apart from that he was also a decent person. He valued the same things as Hayes: Integrity. Commitment. Putting the mission first.

He was a fine MACO.

 

He had been.

 

Because when they returned several hours later, they all looked like hell — Reed, T’Pol and the Captain. And Hawkins had been killed.

There wasn’t even a body to retrieve, because the goddamn sphere had vaporized him instantly.

Not even an identification chip. Nothing.

 

Hayes looked down on the PADD in his hand. Reed would write the report on Hawkins’ death, but as his CO it was on him to break the news to his family. He left behind a wife and a two-year old daughter.

Jeremiah Hayes rubbed the bridge of his nose.

 

He didn’t blame Reed. He had done everything he could and Hayes had told him exactly that in the launch bay after the away team had returned.

Yet, Hayes still wondered if it had happened if it had been him commanding the away team. People usually didn’t die under his lead …

This was a nightmare. Losing someone always was and no matter how often it occurred it never got any easier.

 

Death was cruel, it left a hole in their formation, in their community — especially when the contingent was so small, like on Enterprise. But that was only the logistics of it, a minor part compared to the emotional toll it took on them.

He didn’t envy Reed — Hayes was well aware that someone being killed under your command was a heavy cross to carry.

But in the same respect it was a heavy cross to carry for him, too.

 

He looked down at the letter that blinked on the PADD in his hands. The progress he had made was laughable.

He clung to platitudes and commonplace phrases: ‘ _I regret to inform you_ ’, ‘ _With great sadness_ ’ and the like and _goddamnit_ he wanted to toss the PADD across the room and yell in the vast empty of space how unfair it was, how fucking unfair.

 

Nobody deserved to be vaporized by some alien device. Besides that, how could one _tactfully_ explain this to a grieving widow?

He let the bitterness and the anger wash over him — both feeling he had felt before and knew he’d feel again, not that this made it any easier.

But it seemed that this time the anger was especially bad and the grief felt heavier, like the damn grav-plating on this ship.

He could blame it on the nature of the mission. Hell, he could even blame it on Reed. But he wasn’t sure if either of those really were the answer.

 

The chirp of the door chime pulled him out of his thoughts. He didn’t expect company and he wasn’t sure if he wanted any either.

For a moment he considered playing dead.

“Come in,” he finally growled.

 

He was surprised to see Reed of all people.

Hayes put the PADD on his desk as he got up. The Lieutenant had made no effort to actually come in, but instead stood in the doorway with an awkward expression on his face. He looked even more exhausted now than he had a couple hours ago in the launch bay.

 

“I didn’t expect to see you, Lieutenant,” Hayes tried to keep his tone neutral, but he was certain his surprise showed nevertheless.

 

“May I come in, Major?” Reed’s voice was toneless and the question itself seemed redundant. Instead of answering, Hayes simply stepped aside and gestured the Lieutenant to come in.

 

Upon entering the room Reed glanced at the wall — the same wall he had pushed Hayes against just a couple days ago, the same wall that they had leaned against while devouring each other — like he had seen a scorpion.

Regret.

A sudden feeling of anger and upset rushed through Hayes. He didn’t want Reed to regret this.

His own thought made him uncomfortable.

 

“May I help you, Sir?”

Jeremiah Hayes noticed he sounded more aggressive than he had planned to.

 

Reed simply nodded.

“I felt it was appropriate to extend my condolences. You lost a man today. My report will be finished by the day after tomorrow at the latest, but if you need it sooner I’ll see to it.”

 

There it was again. He was hiding behind his reports and regulations.

Hayes sighed.

 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

 

“It doesn’t get easier over time, does it?” Reed’s voice was quiet, higher than usual, like he had to force the words out.

It was this simple statement that seemed to dissolve the tension that had held Hayes in a tight grip ever since he had started writing the letter to Hawkins’ wife.

 

‘ _Widow_ ’, he corrected himself.

 

“No,” the Major replied, his words merely a whisper. “He leaves behind a wife and a child. I’m currently trying to come up with a letter to extend my condolences. It’s not going too well.”

 

“It never does either.What I really came here for, I … I wanted to apologize, Major.”

 

For a moment Hayes considered asking Reed to drop the rank, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. They’d never be ‘ _Malcolm_ ’ and ‘ _Jeremiah_ ’. There was too much between them. And now on top of that, a death.

 

Reed cleared his throat. “I did everything I could.”

 

“I know you did. You couldn’t have known. None of us could.”

 

Reed threw him a wry, very sardonic smile.

“Don’t you ever wonder what they’ll write in our letters?” His words laced with pain, he pointed at the PADD on Hayes’ desk.

 

“Probably the same phrases everyone tries to hide behind, me included.”

The conversation had taken a dark turn, and Hayes wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with that.

 

His discomfort must have shown.

 

“I am sorry, Major. I didn’t mean to … it wasn’t exactly a pretty sight when…,” Reed trailed off.

 

 

Since when had they been standing so close to each other?

Hayes put a hand on Reed’s shoulder.

The Lieutenant might not be a MACO, but they both had grown up with war in their veins, the military had shaped them to who they were, no matter if they wanted it or not.

Death was like an old friend, a looming shadow that followed wherever they went, not knowing when it would overtake them. Hayes knew that especially. He had seen too many people die.

 

But he knew that Reed understood, too.

 

***

 

The moment Hayes had put a hand on his shoulder, Malcolm Reed sensed the grief and anger of a useless death he had felt upon entering the Major’s quarters vanish — yet every nerve ending in his body seemed to tense up, an electric shock traveling up his synapses and down to his spine.

 

At first when he had stepped foot into Hayes’ habitat he had been extremely uncomfortable: the memory of their encounter that had taken place there. The fact he felt — no, he was — responsible for one of the MACOs’ death.

But now that Hayes’ hand rested firmly on his shoulder … it was like a most welcome reprieve from real life. The mission, the pressure they were under, the half-finished report that was sitting on the desk back in his quarters. Suddenly all of that was far, very far, away.

 

 

Fingers intertwined and breaths hitched.

He had promised himself not to get involved in any of this again — it was against regulations, it wasn’t _professional_ — but as he looked up he saw _Jeremiah_ Hayes’ green eyes, softer than usual but the same burning question the Major had already asked a few days ago written in them: ‘ _What the heck was that_?’

 

Hayes didn’t flinch or pull back when Reed moved in closer, his face now hovering mere inches in front of the other man’s as he looked up. He would have liked to kiss him, but there was an inherent fear it would break whatever spell that lied between them.

Instead he lowered his head again and instead bit the Major’s neck — not hard enough to leave a mark, but firm nevertheless.

A low groan disturbed the silence, another sound he wasn’t aware Hayes was capable of making, and he instinctively knew he had undone him. Not that he thought that there had necessarily been much resistance to begin with.

 

 

He had seen Major Jeremiah Hayes frantic with anger and with rage.

But this was his favorite version of the Major — when he had lost control. Before he knew it, Hayes had pushed down the zipper of his uniform and hastily pulled it the jumpsuit down over his shoulders. One of his hands was on the back of Reed’s head, raking through his hair, softly pulling.

Without further warning or hesitation, Hayes took the Lieutenant’s head in both hands and kissed him — a shy, almost chaste gesture, but strangely sweet.

Malcolm Reed cursed internally.

Like the unbearable saccharine flavor of the ration bars they took with them to their away missions, the gesture held too much _feelings_ , too much _affection_ , more than he could handle.

But despite his very core protesting what happened, citing rulebooks and Starfleet regulations, he didn’t stop Hayes from what he was doing.

 

Instead he deepened the kiss and once more found that ‘ _frantic with want_ ’-Hayes was still his favorite of all the versions of Jeremiah Hayes he knew.

Biting on the Major’s lower lip, he removed Hayes uniform jacket and let his hands roam over his chest. Hayes sucked in a breath and chuckled briefly — a throaty, self-assured sound — although Reed couldn’t exactly find the humor in the situation.

 

Whatever last bit of control Lieutenant Malcolm Reed had, he felt it vanish in mere instants. Giving in to whatever drove him to do what they did in private, when their sparring matches and verbal disputes weren’t enough anymore.

 

Low groans and incoherent mumblings echoed in the room.

Pulling on belts, zippers and shirts, Reed pushed the Major closer to the bed. He knew where this would lead — a small voice in the back of his mind screamed of the anti-fraternization rule, but then he saw Jeremiah Hayes’ eyes, a predatory, excited gleam twinkling in them and the thought slipped his conscience.

Grabbing the Major by the throat he shoved him down on the bed and pulled his jumpsuit off, awkwardly kicking off his boots. His neon blue undershirt followed. He intently watched Hayes do the same with his what was left of his clothing.

 

 

Hayes looked up to face him, evoking a series of unexpected emotions in Reed. Years later the look on Jeremiah Hayes’ face would still be burned into his mind like an imprint.

It was the look of unspoken surrender.

Although part of him felt like making the Major beg for whatever he planned on doing to him anyway, Reed didn’t.

Instead, he simply pushed down his standard issue briefs and followed Hayes onto the narrow bunk.

 

 

The dim lights of the Major’s quarters barely illuminated Hayes’ body enough for Reed to observe its details — a couple scars and faint marks here and there, silent witnesses of a life spent in combat. A faint patch of dark hair trailing across his chest. The way Hayes looked at him in between gasps of breath and silent curses as Reed explored his body — hesitant yet curious, doubtful and expectant at the same time.

He pushed himself up far enough to kiss Reed again, biting his lip, fingers lacing through his hair and still pulling, yet their gestures had become calmer than the first time they had done this.

 

Malcolm Reed sat up and examined the shelf above Hayes’ bunk bed. He saw a couple PADDs, his leather-clad book and a tube of hand lotion — not ideal but it would do.

His _Eagle Scout_ self had thought about bringing something more effective to be prepared ‘just in case’, but he felt it wasn’t only presumptuous, but also inappropriate given why he had come over in the first place.

 

At first, he had thought about commanding the Major onto his hands and knees, but then decided against it. He wanted to see Hayes. He liked seeing him lose control.

After what he deemed a sufficient amount of preparation he entered Hayes and reveled in the sound of whispered obscenities he elicited from the Major’s throat — and after a while he had lost count of how many times Hayes had quietly choked out ‘ _oh fuck_ ’.

Given his assumption this was nothing the MACO had done before, he tried to be as gentle as possible.

 

He felt Hayes’ nails dig into his shoulders and at one point was almost certain he had broken the skin.

Reed didn’t care.

It only compounded every sensation — Hayes’ tightness enveloping him, his cock a bar of heat in Reed’s hand as he worked him in firm strokes, the faint tingling sensation of his orgasm building at the very base of his spine.

All of a sudden the Major shifted, allowing Reed to enter him even deeper, and he felt Hayes tense up under him, a low growl escaping him.

 

Suddenly Hayes’ strong arms pulled him closer, his hands caressing Reed’s face, a shiver running through the Major’s body. He knew Hayes was trying his best to stay quiet — Enterprise’s walls weren’t exactly thick.

Reed felt the MACO’s heels dig into the small of his back, pushing him further in and after only seconds the sensation of warm semen hitting his stomach as Hayes let out a long, low moan, hips bucking.

 

It was enough to send Malcolm Reed over the edge. He buried his face in the crook of Hayes’ neck, attempting to silence the moans escaping his throat, desperately trying to catch his breath.

His climax washed over him in long waves as Hayes’ fingertips, not more than a flutter, traced up and down his spine.

The gesture held so much gentleness that for a second Malcolm Reed felt his carefully crafted shell crack, tears stinging in the corners of his eyes. Violently he blinked them away, inhaling the scent of Jeremiah Hayes once more: standard issue soap, sweat and a hint of Hayes _himself_.

 

The scent of the man he …

 

He must have fallen asleep.

When he woke he realized Hayes must have dimmed the lights — or maybe the room had been this dark to begin with, who knew. He couldn’t remember. He felt the slightly sticky residue of dried come on his stomach.

Disoriented for a second he sat up, gently shifting Hayes’ arm that had been flung over Reed’s shoulder. He didn’t want to wake him.

 

In the faint light the Major’s features looked soft, illuminated by an almost ethereal glow.

Reed stretched out a hand to stroke the MACO’s cheek, but then decided against it.

 

 

Instead, he quickly got dressed and quietly left the Major’s quarters.

 


	6. Disruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rescue mission goes awry. Malcolm Reed battles the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer to write, mainly because I wrestled canon. This is the second to last chapter of this fic and it turned out quite a bit darker than I had expected.  
> Thanks to all of you readers and especially those who have left comments and/or kudos. I appreciate every single one of you :)
> 
> Spoilers for season 3, episode 23 "Countdown".

Jeremiah Hayes awoke alone in his quarters.

Somehow it didn’t surprise him Reed had fled after their conversation had taken yet another unexpected turn.

At the same time — he realized to his dismay — he was almost somewhat upset about it. A part of him had hoped to see Reed’s rumpled, sleepy face in the morning, but to what avail?

To make things more awkward than they had already been?

 

And then there was the undeniable feeling of guilt trickling in: He should have been writing his condolences to Hawkins’ widow. He could only speculate about Reed’s true motive of why he had come over and he didn’t want to assume. From all he knew, Reed had come by because he had felt guilty about Hawkins’ death and maybe to vent.

Given the situation, their actions had been inappropriate on more levels than just merely going against regulations.

But did he really regret it?

 

He shifted in his bed. There was dried semen between his legs and on the sheets, remnants of their lovemaking. Proof that it had actually happened and wasn’t just a distant, strange dream this time.

 

Somehow he felt like a stranger in his own body.

He didn’t remember feeling like this back when Kristen had taken his virginity back when he was a mere nineteen years old. But in hindsight he also wasn’t sure if Kristen had ever evoked these kind of feelings in him that he couldn’t even define. Malcolm Reed aggravated him and sparked his curiosity, he made Hayes question the very fundament he as a person was built upon.

How did he feel about Reed?

 

… He couldn’t answer the question. He wasn’t ready to think about it.

But why was it so hard?

 

He pondered on the thought for a while, looking at his hands. There were a few faint red particles under his fingernails and Hayes furrowed his brow for a moment. Then he remembered: how he had dug his fingers into Reed’s back as he had pushed inside him, the way he fucked as effective and precise as the way he fought in a sparring match.

The look on his face as he threw his head back, letting out gasps of breath and faint moans, still careful not to let his control slip.

Malcolm Reed’s blood under his fingernails.

 

It was a strange and intimate thought.

A thought almost too big to comprehend, so he checked the clock above his bunk — he didn’t have to get up for another hour — and rolled to his side.

The sheets still smelled of the Lieutenant.

The stranger he had shared his body (and now his bed) with twice.

 

 

***

 

He had hoped for an uneventful day.

But this was the expanse. There was no such thing as an “uneventful day”, and he should have known by know.

Malcolm Reed saw his face in the mirror of his narrow bathroom: his eyes were sunken in, and his skin of an unhealthy pallor. Like a corpse.

 

He felt like death, that was for sure.

 

Shortly after Hawkins had been killed (and just hours after Reed had stumbled back into his quarters after a secretive walk of shame trying sneak past the crewmembers working the gamma shift), Hoshi had been abducted by the Xindi.

As the ship’s Communications Officer and given her outstanding linguistic expertise it left little to wonder why they had done it. They needed her for something.

 

He cared a great deal about her — granted she was nosy on occasion. She had grown a lot though. There were worlds between the Ensign Sato that had come aboard Enterprise doubting her every move and the Ensign Sato he knew now.

Had he changed that drastically?

He couldn’t tell.

 

 

The MACOs would take care of the rescue mission, as per Captain Archer’s request. Hayes would be handling the away mission. He had insisted to lead the boarding party — possibly because after the last experience, he didn’t trust the capabilities of any of Enterprise’s senior staff. Reed huffed.

Hawkins’ death would forever be between them.

 

 _Forever_.

 

It was such a big, ironic expression to use.

Like there was any certainty any of them made it out alive.

Like there was a possibility of a “forever” between him and Hayes. Like there was really anything between them. Reed huffed.

 

Hayes’ word echoed in his mind: “ _One of these days, Reed, you owe me an explanation. You can’t hide behind your Starfleet regulations and your half-hearted apologies forever._ ”

 

Maybe when all of this was over, the first thing he needed to do was sort himself out. If he lived. If they all lived.

 

 

As Tactical Officer he would still be partly in charge of some of the tactical aspects, so him and Hayes were scheduled to meet in the Armory at 1000 hours.

It was the first time Reed would see the Major after he had more or less fled his quarters. He had frantically scrubbed Jeremiah Hayes’ semen off his chest and stomach after arriving back at his quarters. When he had finished his scalding hot shower he had fallen into his bunk bed like a dead man, hoping in vain for sleep to overtake him for another couple of hours.

It didn’t.

 

When Hayes arrived in the Armory and asked for him, Reed was ready to bolt. He expected Hayes to be his usual stern self, but as soon as the Major had walked up to him, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed knew something in the man had changed.

His glance, the way he looked at Reed — it had softened.

It was obvious that now wasn’t the time to talk about what had happened between them, but there was little confrontation anymore. The tension seemed to have eased.

 

Still, Malcolm Reed found it hard to not be his prim and proper military self. Then again, of all people, Hayes would understand.

 

“Have you assembled your boarding party?” He asked the Major stiffly.

 

“Ready to deploy on your command.” Hayes answer came quick and precise.

 

Reed hesitated. “I wish I was leading it myself.”

Maybe that wasn’t the wisest thing to say after Hawkins’ demise, but it was honest.

 

For a second, it seemed like an amused expression paired with pain flashed over Hayes’ face.

“Your place is on the bridge, Sir.”

 

The statement wasn’t demeaning. There was no condescension or sarcasm, not this time, but instead something else. Hayes tone was protective.

 

Reed bowed his head, trying to hide the wry smile that spread over his face. “No offense, Major. It's just that Ensign Sato is a friend. Here's my report on Corporal Hawkins.”

 

He handed the PADD to his left over to Hayes. He had finished it in the early morning hours after leaving Hayes’ quarters, after sleep didn’t come and the memories of their night spent together wouldn’t vanish.

 

“Thank you. Would you like to go over my rescue plan?” Hayes voice now made clear that they needed to talk business.

 

“First, I'd like to know if we have a problem.” It was about time he started to be honest with Hayes. Or maybe it was Lieutenant Malcolm Reed’s way of extending the long-awaited olive branch, who knew. His sudden openness seemed to even surprise the Major.

 

“Sir?” The MACO looked puzzled, and for the first time Reed had seen him genuinely surprised.

Maybe except for the time he had kissed Hayes in his quarters — he indeed had looked surprised then, too.

 

“If you blame me for the Corporal’s death,” Reed clarified.

 

The Lieutenant guessed they both knew that there was a second layer to this conversation. One that none of the crewmen and member of the Armory staff neither could possibly know about, nor were they supposed to.

 

Hayes sighed briefly.

 

“Permission to speak freely? I've never liked putting my people under someone else's command. You're senior Tactical Officer, but they're my team. I can't help but think that if I'd been there things might have turned out differently.”

 

He couldn’t blame Hayes. It was the same answer he would have given if their roles had been reversed.

Cut from the same cloth, Hayes’ words, thoughts and actions often seemed to be a mirror image of his own.

And no matter how much he hated the thought, Malcolm Reed couldn’t deny it.

The more he thought about it, the more he resented the Major — but in return, loathed and despised himself, his own actions. Only then to realize how similar they were.

 

It was a cycle he couldn’t escape. And no matter what he did he somehow ended up at the same point:

 

Major Jeremiah Hayes, who seemed to be the beginning, end and center of this cycle altogether.

 

Reed shook his head in disbelief over the realization.

 

“I did everything I could. Things happened very fast,” he quickly explained, after he had recovered from the onslaught of thoughts that had befallen him.

 

“I understand,” Hayes cut in.

 

“I'm not finished. Hawkins may well have been a MACO, but he was my responsibility out there,” he intently watched Hayes. Whatever the Major was thinking — all of it was hidden again under his flawless military façade, yet there was one thing that gave him away: the soft expression in his eyes hadn’t vanished.

 

“When we first came aboard Enterprise, we definitely felt like outsiders.”

There was no accusation in Hayes’ tone. It was purely a statement — neutral and honest.

Was it a change in the Major’s behavior, or was it simply the first time taking his words for what they were, without assuming, without interpreting?

Malcolm Reed didn’t know.

 

“If I contributed to that, I apologize.”

‘ _No_ ,’ he added mentally. ‘ _I contributed to it_. _I didn’t even make any effort to be civil_.’

 

He saw a brief smirk on Hayes’ face. He knew.

But he didn’t protest. He understood.

 

“My point is, none of us feel that way anymore. We’re all part of the same crew, no matter which uniform we wear. Don't worry about Ensign Sato. We’ll bring her home.”

 

Reed could only take a wild guess as to what Hayes’ really meant.

But if he was certain of anything, it was that the Major assured him of one thing:

 

“ _I’ll be coming back_. _We’ll talk later_.”

 

***

 

They had Ensign Sato. He had hauled her over his shoulder and under crossfire tried to make it back to the beam-in point. What had seemed like a quick in-and-out kind of mission suddenly had become quite the ordeal.

 

Hayes cursed.

 

Why did it take so long to beam him back to Enterprise?

 

Archer informed him via communicator that there had been a malfunction.

 

‘ _Go figure_ ,’ Hayes thought sourly. ‘ _Maybe Starfleet should have done a couple more test runs beaming fruit and vegetables back and forth before having humankind’s fate rely on their goddamn flawed equipment_.’

 

He threw a grenade to keep some Xindi off his back. He kept firing I front of him.

 

When the Chief Engineer, Tucker, finally had figured out how to get them back he handed the Ensign over to Kelly and ordered Kemper to go next.

He always would put his people first and they almost seemed out of the worst anyway.

 

“I could use a change of scenery,” he barked at Tucker through the comm.

 

He heard the Commander’s drawl loud and clear.

“Stand by, Major.”

 

 

He felt the familiar tingle of the transporter beam locking onto him — along with a sharp, stinging pain in his chest.

 

***

 

Sickbay was crowded with people. The medical staff had brought in extra biobeds to care for all the wounded, and at first he hadn’t even been able to locate Phlox or the Major.

He was out of breath, and his uniform seemed to cling to him uncomfortably.

Malcolm Reed wiped the sweat off his forehead and ran a hand through his hair.

 

Tucker had told him the Major had been shot. Apparently things didn’t look to good.

 

Hayes laid on one of the beds. He was hooked up to a plethora of monitors, all of them making all kinds of annoying sounds.

From the moment he had looked at the Major he knew things looked bleak — nothing you could cure with some bloodworms or bat spit.

When he realized Hayes might die, panic set in. Reed felt his left hand start to tremble. He tucked it behind his back.

 

Where the bloody hell was Phlox?

 

“Doctor?”

 

He found the Denobulan attending to another patient.

 

“I told him I was ready for duty,” Hayes croaked.

 

Reed couldn’t tell whether this statement was blatant sarcasm or if Hayes was just being his usual stern and stubborn self.

 

“I'm afraid he's a bit of a mother hen,” Reed replied. Hayes wouldn’t leave sickbay, he knew it now. The Major’s face got paler by the minute.

 

‘ _Good Lord, please don’t let him die_.’

 

“How's Ensign Sato?” Facing death, Hayes didn’t even think of himself. Reed had had a feeling this would happen.

 

“Her biosigns are stable.” Phlox thankfully answered for him.

Reed felt his lower lip tremble. ‘ _Goddammit_ ,’ he chastised himself. ‘ _Keep it together_.’

 

“Thank you for bringing her home.” Thankfully his voice didn’t break, although he felt it was close.

 

 

‘ _Oh God, please don’t let him die_.’

 

Who was he even praying to? It was not like some higher benevolent being had ever been part of his life (nor had said being made a significant impact on it, either).

 

 

Hayes’ reply was humble.

“All in a days work. Use McKenzie.”

 

“What?” The statement confused Reed. Then he understood. Hayes knew he wouldn’t leave sickbay either.

 

“She knows the team. Rely on her.”

 

‘ _Of course you would. Giving orders to the last goddamn minute of your life_.’

 

“No more of that talk. That's an order.” He would have taken Hayes’ hand.

Nobody deserved to die alone like this, surrounded by a bunch of noise from the monitors above the bed in a room crowded with people moaning in pain and medical staff scurrying around.

But his arms remained firmly on the side of his body, both hands balled to fists.

 

Hayes had gone even paler. His lips had started turning a darker color, his face bruised and beaten.

 

He saw him jerk, his eyes rolling back into his head, and heard Phlox as he pushed Reed aside.

 

“Cardio-stimulator. Step away, please!”

 

Hayes’ body jerked and trembled under the paddles on his chest.

The monitor kept blaring a monotone sound.

 

“Increase by point two joules.”

 

He knew Phlox had tried everything.

 

He knew Hayes was dead.

Mouth half-open, his eyes still in the same position as before, his pupils barely visible.

One of the medical assistants had the mercy to close them.

 

He heard Phlox’s voice like he was drowning on the bottom of the ocean.

 

 

“Time of death 2100 hours.”

 

He stumbled out of sickbay in a daze.

 

***

 

Malcolm Reed took it upon himself to inform the MACO contingent that both Ensign Sato and Sergeant Kemper would make full recoveries. He also informed them that their commanding officer had been killed in action.

To his surprise, a lot of them were visibly upset. He had expected to see the same professionalism he had always observed on Hayes, but maybe these were different circumstances.

 

The Captain had offered to deliver the news himself, but Reed had declined. He felt as the Tactical Officer, it was his duty. Sending Archer instead would have felt like taking the easy way out. He didn’t approve of such behavior and he knew Hayes wouldn’t have, either.

 

After assembling a team and giving out his orders, he returned to sickbay.

Seeing that it was past 2300 hours the lights had been lowered. Despite the fact the medical bay was still crowded with people it was eerily quiet.

 

 

He wanted to see him once more.

 

 

He could always use the report he had to write as an excuse.

 

Malcolm Reed found Phlox hovering over a PADD himself, likely analyzing medical data. There was a silent, steady purring sound coming from one of the small cages on his desk.

 

“Ah, Lieutenant Reed. Can I help you?”

 

“I was here to inquire details for my report.”

His lie didn’t feel very smooth, but if Phlox had noticed he didn’t call him out on it.

 

“I’ve just finished the autopsy about an hour ago.”

The Doctor led him to a corner of sickbay separated by a milky white plastic curtain.

 

“We’ll be sending a copy of his identification chip to his family via transmission in the following days, if they should inquire about it.”

 

Reed only nodded. He didn’t even know who Hayes left behind.

 

“I’ll give you a minute, Lieutenant. All the findings of the autopsy are on this PADD.” He handed the device over to Reed, who mumbled some quiet words of thanks.

 

 

Hayes was as pale as he had been the last time he saw him, but his bruises were even darker now. So were his lips and the deep circles under his eyes.

They had taken off his uniform and the thin blanket was pulled almost up to his collarbones. He could still see remnants of the V-shaped incision, sewn and stapled close.

He had staples on his forehead, too.

 

‘ _God only knows why they had to do that to you_ ,’ he thought.

 

Rigor mortis had set in. He didn’t touch Hayes’ body. He wanted to remember him when he was warm and alive, not cold and deceased.

 

“There was one remarkable thing I found on the Major.” Phlox’s voice startled him. He hadn’t heard the Denobulan walk up to him.

 

“Such as?”

 

He wasn’t prepared for Phlox’s findings, but in hindsight maybe he should have known better.

 

“Apparently the Major had been sexually active in the last 24 to 48 hours prior to his death. I found remnants of semen in his rectum.” He could sense curiosity in Phlox’s voice.

“I didn’t include it in my official report, but was surprised nevertheless.”

 

“I wouldn’t know anything about that. The Major and I worked together, but apart from that I didn’t know him well,” Reed replied coolly. 

He had never liked about himself that he was an excellent liar, but now he had to admit that this dishonorable talent of his came in handy.

 

“I figured as much. Let me know if you have any other questions regarding the Major’s death.”

 

“Thank you, Doctor. I should be fine.”

He left sickbay in the same daze he had been in since Hayes had passed.

The clock on the PADD showed 2315 hours.

 

Being the Tactical Officer had several perks.

One of them was having all the override codes for the doors, which also counted for the each of the crews’ quarters.

Generally speaking Reed didn’t use his privilege much — there was no logical reason why he should.

 

But now, while most of the ship was asleep and the gamma shift was at their respective duty stations, he roamed the barely illuminated corridors like a thief in the middle of the night.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to do this.

But Hayes’ quarters hadn’t been sealed off yet.

 

He punched in the override code.

When the door hissed open, he slid in.

 

 

He found the room as he had expected to find it. The bed was made, and the PADDs were stacked neatly on the desk, like they always had been when he had been in the Major’s quarters.

As sterile as Hayes’ quarters looked, he could smell him still — faint and lingering.

 

He looked around. It hurt to be here.

What had he hoped for? That he’d find closure here, just hours after the Major had passed?

It didn’t happen.

 

The wave of emotions hit him very sudden, an almost suffocating pressure on his chest. He needed to get out of this room before he completely lost his composure.

 

His eyes fell on the leather-clad book on the shelf above the Major’s bunk.

He took it and turned it around in his hand. Never in his life had Malcolm Reed stolen anything.

 

The silence was broken by a strange, throaty sound.

It took Reed a minute to realize it was himself making it.

 

 

Staring at the book, a single tear fell on the cognac colored cover.

He angrily wiped it off with his sleeve.

Then he opened his jumpsuit and slid the book between his ribcage and his left arm before closing his uniform again.

 

Checking the corridor before he slid out the door, he left the Major’s quarters as quietly as he had done several times before.

 

 

 

He felt the book pressing against his ribs.

 


	7. It is Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to Lunar Eclipse.

He had felt a tremor and a sharp, stabbing pain, a rush of light drowning him; but after a while the sensory overload had subsided and he felt warm and calm again.

How long had he been sleeping?

For a second, he was thinking about contacting Reed to make sure he had indeed followed his request and put McKenzie in charge.

Something told him the stubborn bastard probably hadn’t and he couldn’t wait to yell at his smug face.

 

But as he opened his eyes, the pressing feeling of having to sort out all of these things and the burden of their mission had vanished.

 

He wasn’t on Enterprise.

Not anymore, apparently.

 

He looked around and realized he had fallen asleep on a bench — in front of his parents’ housing complex, no less. Their apartment building was right behind him.

How did he get here?

 

Frantically he looked down at himself. He wore his combat uniform, although his communicator and all of his weapons were gone. To his grave dismay the uniform was still stained with blood, especially around his chest, but when he examined his body further he neither found an open wound, nor was his chest sore to the touch.

No, he didn’t seem to be injured.

But he was very much confused.

 

He sat for a while, not knowing what to do. The sun felt warm on his back — a strange, yet familiar feeling he had almost forgotten after being in space for so long.

Eventually he got up. The whole complex seemed empty, like he was the only person there.

 

Since he had no other place to go, he decided he might as well try to get back to his parents’ apartment, if he could gain access to their habitat.

Everything was exactly as he had remembered it. Even the faint and lingering smell of paint in the hallway leading up to his old home was still there.

Walking up the staircase felt strange as well — the heavy sensation caused by Enterprise’s grav plating was gone and his steps felt light despite the fact he wore his heavy combat boots.

 

 

The door to his parent’s home was unlocked.

 

He remembered now. When he was young, neither of his parents had locked the doors when one of them was home, just in case the other returned.

 

‘ _Things haven’t changed_ ,’ Hayes mental remark filled him with a sense of content.

He opened the door and stepped in. Hearing someone rummage around in the kitchen, he poked his head in only to find his father putting away dishes.

 

The unexpected wave of emotions that hit Jeremiah Hayes was overwhelming. How long had it been? Almost fifteen years? His mind was so clouded with the heaviness of his joy and his sadness altogether he couldn’t even do the math.

Matthew Hayes hadn’t changed. He looked a bit thinner maybe, almost frail, like midway through his battle with cancer, but healthy otherwise.

 

When his father turned around he let out a quiet, surprised huff as he looked at his only son.

‘ _It is like a dream sequence_ ,’ Hayes thought — all of what was happening felt hyperreal and surreal at the same time. Was it a dream though? He wasn’t able to tell.

He didn’t want it to be one, that was for sure.

 

“I expected to see your mother here first,” his father remarked dryly. “Well, I kind of had hoped … not that I am not excited to see you, son.” He barked out a laugh and the bellowing sound echoed through their tiny habitat. It was the thing he had missed most about his father — the loud laugh that would make heads turn and have dogs scurry out of the room.

 

He stepped closer and pulled Hayes into a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

 

“It is good to see you too.” His voice broke a bit.

 

His hands still on Jeremiah Hayes’ shoulders, his father looked him up and down and frowned at the blood stains on his uniform.

 

“Things didn’t go too well?” It was a typical thing his father would say. An understatement at best, there was a slight hint or sarcasm in his voice.

They were so alike, Hayes noticed. And it was that kind of sarcasm that had driven Reed to become furious again and again.

 

“Kind of, yeah,” Hayes grimaced.

 

“Tell me about it when we’re outside. I have to give the crape myrtles a trim. They have been growing like crazy.” His father walked out of the kitchen and over to a closet, where he pulled out a couple of pruning shears.

 

“You’re gonna help me, aren’t you?”

 

Hayes smiled.

What had he expected? That his old man would sit around and twirl his thumbs? That wasn’t like him at all.

 

“Sure.” He took off his uniform jacket and hung it over the chair.

 

“I’d like to know what you’ve been up to. We haven’t spoken in a while,” he heard Matthew Hayes yell from another part of their apartment.

 

‘ _Of course_ ,’ Hayes thought confused. ‘ _You are … you were fucking dead_.’

 

Then he thought again. What would he tell his father? The Xindi? His assignment aboard Enterprise? Lieutenant Malcolm Reed?

 

Then he remembered. The last conversation they had. The words that still somehow hung between them, unspoken.

Although he didn’t like to admit it, a part of him longed for the Lieutenant, even if it was just to continue their not-so-friendly banter.

Would Reed miss him at all?

It was such a strange question to ask. Like Malcolm Reed would admit anything that closely resembled feelings.

 

Yet thinking of Malcolm Reed (his lopsided, sardonic smiles, snide remarks and all) stung like a paper cut, and the feeling lingered, leaving an imprint on his core.

 

 

As they stepped outside he could see the trees were in full bloom. The air smelled sweet, but there was a faint, crisp edge to it, like winter hadn’t fully left. 

The place was peaceful — more peaceful in fact than he had ever remembered it. He watched as his old man busied himself with starting to trim the branches.

 

‘ _It is spring_ ,’ Jeremiah Hayes thought.

 

The mundane, and quite frankly somewhat facile, remark hit him with the full force of surprise first, then with realization and almost a state of enlightenment. Everything was fine, plain and simple.

It was spring.

 

And with that, the light found him once more, overwhelmed him, and then Jeremiah Hayes remembered nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out to be more of a drabble, if anything - the concept of writing an epilogue to the actual story had been buzzing around in my head for quite a bit, so I decided to give it a go. Given that it is only that, this chapter is much shorter than the other ones. It just took much longer to write since I wasn't fully ready to let go ... (ugh).
> 
> A big thanks to all of you who have left kudos and comments! This was the first time I published any of my writing on a public platform and it provided a lot of encouragement :)


End file.
